Requiem for the Living
by Jinxd n cursed
Summary: It has been almost ten years since the fall of Voldemort but the happy ending isn't exactly happy for the recently widowed Hermione Weasley or the presumed dead Severus Snape. Alone to raise two children and build an illustrious career, she may find a partner in the most unexpected place. Slightly AU, EWE.
1. Chapter 1

**Requiem for the Living**

By Jinxd n Cursed

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I merely play in the world of J.K. Rowling; she still owns the characters.

* * *

_Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,  
et lux perpetua luceat eis.  
Te decet hymnus, Deus, in Sion,  
et tibi reddetur votum in Jerusalem.  
Exaudi orationem meam,  
ad te omnis care veniet.  
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,  
et lux perpetua luceat eis. _

**Chapter One**

The stone cottage was situated beside a stream. If one did not know it was there, it was rather difficult to spot as it blended in surprisingly well with the surrounding green of the trees. A whimsical person might say it looked like a fairy tale cottage but the occupant had a much less romantic view of the structure: It was small but it served his needs.

The inside of the cottage was larger than it had any right to be. The arched wooden door opened to a small sitting room with a large sofa, a single worn leather club chair, and an antique cabinet radio. Beyond that was a surprisingly large kitchen with wood cabinets, and a massive iron stove spanning almost an entire wall. The wash room was serviceable with a claw foot tub and pedestal sink. At the end of the narrow hall was a small library stuffed to the gills with books, and a small bedroom with a wardrobe, a narrow bed, and a small dresser.

If one were to look about the cottage, however, they might notice a few oddities. First was the complete lack of electric light fixtures. There were no ceiling fans or sconces or pot lights or any of the usual accouterments. In fact, there weren't any lamps either. There were candles, including those planted in iron ring chandeliers hanging from the ceiling in the sitting room and kitchen. The rooms seemed brighter than windows and candles alone could provide, however. There were no heaters, freestanding or built in but the rooms were warm and cozy even in the deep of winter.

Strangest of all, though, was the strange feeling a person felt as they approached the house. It was difficult to describe, almost a tingle or a thrumming just below the skin. One might have the inexplicable urge to turn around and go back the other way.

Not many people found themselves at the cottage to begin with, however. It was situated in the mountains of Wales on government protected land. The house wasn't strictly supposed to be there but no one had ever complained and thus the government remained wholly oblivious to the cottage and its occupant.

One day, the cottage was noticed by a hiker that had long strayed away from the path having seen an owl that was shockingly active for the daylight hours. Camera in hand, he followed the snowy white owl through the trees and down the stream when the owl came to a gentle stop on a tree branch outside the window of a small stone cottage. He watched, fascinated as the owl hooted loudly twice.

He blinked several times, not believing his eyes as a set of metal cellar doors shimmered into existence and opened. A tall, skinny man with black hair emerged, but when he closed them, they disappeared behind him, and the hiker thought he must have imagined it all. The snowy owl flew down from the tree branch and landed on the man's arm. The man removed an envelope from the bird's claw and offered the owl something in his hand. The owl took the offering and flew back up to the tree branch, tucking its head under its wing and apparently going to sleep. The man went into the cottage with the envelope.

A strange feeling settled in the gut of the hiker as he turned to leave. He certainly wasn't a peeping tom, of course, and wanted to leave the man in peace. Turning to leave, the hiker pulled out his portable GPS unit to aid him in returning to the trail. He whacked it a few times against a tree as it seemed to be having trouble determining his location. He walked a few paces away from the stone cottage and began thinking more of his waiting picnic lunch and the drive home than the owl and the strange man.

He didn't know it yet, but once he headed home intending to look over his pictures, he would find that his memory card had been mysteriously erased and the photos of the snowy owl and the stone cottage would be gone.

* * *

Author's Notes: This is my first fanfic in a good long while so you'll have to forgive me. Updates will be slow (I'm hoping once a week) but I vow to complete this story.

**Minor edit 8/18/14**


	2. Chapter 2

**Requiem for the Living**

By Jinxd n Cursed

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I merely play in the world of J.K. Rowling; she still owns the characters.

* * *

_Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,  
et lux perpetua luceat eis.  
Te decet hymnus, Deus, in Sion,  
et tibi reddetur votum in Jerusalem.  
Exaudi orationem meam,  
ad te omnis care veniet.  
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,  
et lux perpetua luceat eis. _

**Chapter Two**

Hermione Weasley had always had a helping people complex. She had long expected to find herself making a career of helping the less fortunate and representing the marginalized populations of Britain. If she were a muggle, she suspected she would've have become a legal aid lawyer or, perhaps, a doctor in some third world country. Well, the latter wasn't that far off, as it was. She had surprised herself and chosen to go into healing after witnessing the atrocities of the war. Most specifically, she was a research and development Healer.

In the end, Madam Pomfrey had talked her into it after watching her in action. In the aftermath of the Battle of Hogwarts, she had thrown herself into helping the injured at Hogwarts. St Mungos had been simply overrun and was unable to take any patient that didn't require critical, specialized care. Hermione had tended to gaping wounds, broken bones, minor curses, and probably worst of all, a few werewolf bites. Fenrir Greyback had not gone down without a fight, to say the least. Treating the wounds and counseling the victims, one of whom was a mere fourth year who had snuck back onto the ground to assist in the battle, whilst dealing with her own grief at the loss of so many people had been only one of her hardest tasks, however. No, the worst task had come two days after the battle when wounds were bandaged and bones healed: locating the missing.

Poor souls other than herself had tended to the dead on the field of battle, bathed the corpses, and returned them to the families. Unfortunately, though, there were approximately ten people still missing after three days of searching. Hermione had found the body of Lavender Brown in a fifth floor corridor. An unconscious, barely breathing Parvati Patel was behind her. It had taken Hermione four tries to be able to summon her Patronus to let the Order and Madam Pomfrey know that she needed them and the animal that burst forth had not been her otter any longer. Instead, an owl had flown through the halls of Hogwarts to seek out her friends.

Hermione had busied herself casting various diagnostic charms over her still breathing classmate. The first had shown decent blood pressure, but a low heart rate and low oxygen saturation. The second revealed inflammation in her brain and spinal cord as well as a broken skull. The last showed a huge depletion in her magical energy. Her body had preserved itself using its stores of magic while Parvati had been left to die for three days by her best friend's body. Hermione was completely helpless in dealing with injuries like that; all she could do was sit by her classmate's side and will her to keep breathing until help arrived.

She was completely exhausted by the end of the fifteen minutes it took them to locate her but when Madam Pomfrey hd run the same diagnostic charms she had, Parvati's heart rate and oxygen levels had improved. More surprising, though, was that Parvati's magical stores had been partially replenished. It was a mystery Hermione wouldn't solve until the second year of her apprenticeship at St. Mungo's.

Parvati was quickly stabilized and taken to the hospital wing by Madam Pomfrey. Members of the Order along with a Ministry official tended to Lavender. Ignored by both Madam Pomfrey and the group tending to Lavender, Hermione's eyes had turned back to the list of the missing. There were five Death Eaters on the list that they suspected had escaped. There were two more Order members witnesses suggested had fallen into the lake. The Merpeople were searching for them. Her eyes had gone to the last name on the list: Severus Snape.

Harry had already gone to the Shrieking Shack after the completion of the battle to retrieve to body of his once hated professor, and Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had gone with him. Rumors of Snape's true loyalty had already circulated among the legions although the official story had not yet been released. To hear them say it, the Shrieking Shack looked like a massacre had occurred there with the amount of blood on the walls. But the body of Professor Snape was no where to be found. They suspected that Death Eaters fleeing had taken the corpse with the intention to desecrate the body of the biggest traitor to their cause.

Hermione had gone to the Shrieking Shack that afternoon to see for herself. She had followed the tunnel under the the Whomping Willow into the dilapidated building. The walls in the room where Snape had met Voldemort were indeed spattered in blood. The snake had been truly vicious in its attack. What Harry and the professors had not noted to her, however, was the clear drag marks in the dried pool of blood on the floor, nor had they noticed the small bits of black fabric snagged in the splintered wood. Hermione followed the pattern of the drag marks down the stairway. At the base of the stairs, she saw the shattered remains of a potion vial. Carefully picking up a large shard that still had a few drops of potion clinging to it, she sniffed carefully and then dropped the piece of crystal in shock, slicing her palm in the process. The few drops of liquid smelled very distinctively of blood replenishing potion and anti-venom. The potion was relatively fresh so it could not have been just an old broken bottle, lying on the floor since Remus' rampages in werewolf form. No, if Hermione's suspicions were correct, whoever had removed the Potions Master from the Shrieking Shack had not removed a dead body but rather a living hero.

Hermione had considered sharing her musings with the rest of the order but had squelched the idea before she even got up from the dusty floor. If she were him, even though he had been proven a hero in the end, she would want to go far, far away and disappear. He had certainly never wanted accolades for his work as a spy and she doubted he wanted them now. She doubted he wanted anyone to know he was alive at all. She had looked at the evidence around her. Surely if she, an untrained school girl, could pick up on the clues, Magical Law Enforcement would as well. She found herself suddenly fiercely protective of her former professor's life and future, whatever it would be. And so, she resolved that no one else, not even Harry would know of her discovery.

She had taken one last look around the dusty house and bid it good riddance. She aimed her wand at the torn draperies in the parlor and they instantly caught fire. Next was the railing on the staircase and the casing around the door to the sitting room. She opened up the front door and walked out, shooting one last jet of flame at the front porch which caught fire with shocking speed. After she had made it through the rusted iron gate and onto the street, she turned and looked at the old house that was quickly becoming a blazing inferno.

"Good luck to you, Severus Snape, wherever you are," she had whispered to the flames.

Unfortunately, almost ten years later Hermione regretted her decision to let him escape into anonymity. Her current research required a stronger understanding of Potions than she possessed and no true Potion's Master could be lured away from their cauldron long enough to give her the time of day for a consultation, war hero status or not. Hermione blew out a frustrated sigh and began scratching out a missive to the next brewer on the list of St. Mungo's independent contractors begging for assistance. Only time would tell if one would come forth or her most ambitious project would be her greatest failure.

Though her career had barely started, she already had one major accomplishment behind her. Her first project had been working with a team of three others to create a cure for spattergroit. Up until that point, the only option was to let the disease run its course and hope for the best. She (a healer), Jane Grove (a Potion's mistress), and Terry Boot (an Arithmancy Master) had been an excellent team in trying to solve the problem. It had taken a lot of trial and error in formulating the potion and a number of animal and human trials, but in the end, they did it. The once hugely debilitating disease that required months laid up in bed, most of it unable to talk, now lasted less than a week.

They had all agreed on their next project and Hermione wrote the proposal, asking for a Dark Arts expert to be added to the team. It had taken her entire maternity leave for them to get approval but it had happened, and Hestia Jones was put on the payroll. It was a great team and they had made a plan for their task and were ready to get started.

And then Jane's boyfriend proposed. This probably wouldn't have been a big deal for the team if Jane were British, but unfortunately both she and her fiance were American. So with a certain amount of disappointment, Jane bid farewell to the team.

And with Jane's departure, Hermione bid farewell to her hopes.

* * *

Author's Notes: Thank you for reading. Be kind and review as it is the only type of compensation fanfiction authors receive for their work.

Posting this update a day early this week. Expect updates every Sunday.


	3. Chapter 3

**Requiem for the Living**

By Jinxd n Cursed

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I merely play in the world of J.K. Rowling; she still owns the characters.

* * *

_Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,  
et lux perpetua luceat eis.  
Te decet hymnus, Deus, in Sion,  
et tibi reddetur votum in Jerusalem.  
Exaudi orationem meam,  
ad te omnis care veniet.  
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,  
et lux perpetua luceat eis. _

**Chapter Three**

Severus Snape was woken by the first light of dawn creeping in through his bedroom window. While most would complain about the early wake up calls or else cover the window with heavy drapes, he didn't mind being woken by the sunlight. He had slept easier in the last nine years than he had in the first thirty-five years of his existence. His joints snapped and crackled as he stretched before rising from the narrow bed. With a flick of his wand, the bed was made up, the blue and red patchwork quilt lying smoothly and the pillows freshly plumped.

On an early spring day like this, there was enough light from the windows that he did not need to light any of the candles in the wall sconces or the iron ring chandelier in the kitchen. He waved his wand at the huge iron stove and watched as the wood in the grate roared into flame. He put the bottomless kettle on to boil, followed by a well seasoned cast iron skillet. Despite living in Wales for the last ten year years, he had not embraced the traditional Welsh breakfast of laver bread and cockles. Seafood turned his stomach that early in the morning. Instead, he prepared a fry-up and a strong cup of tea with milk and sugar. His former students likely assumed that he preferred to drink the blood of infants but instead, he chose tea and apple juice.

He sat at the worn wooden table with his breakfast and opened up the Daily Prophet. Though the quality of material was often questionable at best, he thought it best to keep himself apprised of the goings on in Wizarding Britain. The front page had an article about Shacklebolt's prison reform efforts in Azkaban. Apparently, he was requesting funds to renovate parts of the prison to offer more humane conditions for prisoners. Though the dementors had fled after the fall of the Dark Lord, the damp, dreary prison was still hardly a walk in the park. Severus thought it was rather convenient that they thought about renovating the prison only after the last follower of Voldemort was gone.

Severus flipped the page and almost choked on his tea. There was a large picture of Hermione Granger virtually ignoring the camera to alternately stir a bubbling cauldron and read from a huge stack of books. Above the picture was a headline **"Portraits of Heroes: Reflections on the Tenth Anniversary of the Demise of You-Know-Who by Those Most Involved."** It was apparently written by Justin Finch-Fletchley, a former Hufflepuff whose essay writing skills had been lackluster at best as a student. He could only hope that his writing was better suited to being a journalist.

_Few people in Wizarding Britain will have forgotten the events of May 2__nd__, 1998 in which the Dark Lord was defeated at the Battle of Hogwarts. Though we celebrate that great victory, we much not forget the many who lost their lives that day. In honor of tenth anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts, the Daily Prophet will offer a series of interviews from those who were present at Hogwarts that day. Our first interview is with Hermione Weasley- widow to the late Ronald Weasley. _

Severus had remembered that Weasley had died a few years prior but he didn't realize that Granger had been dumb enough to marry him. He wondered briefly if any ginger-haired perpetual hand-raisers had been produced from the union but put it out of his mind to read the article.

_JF-F: Thank you for agreeing to meet with me, Hermione. I know you are a busy woman.  
__**HW: It's no problem Justin.  
**__JF-F: A mere two months from now, we will celebrate the tenth anniversary of You-Know-Who's demise. How are you feeling about the upcoming anniversary?  
__**HW: Well, my feelings are somewhat mixed, I suppose. I am happy that we are able to celebrate that Voldemort—don't flinch like that, Justin, for Merlin's sake, he's been gone almost ten years!—that Voldemort was defeated, but unfortunately that wasn't the end of the war. As you know, it took more than five years to round up the last of the Death Eaters. My husband lost his life from a slow-acting curse Mulciber hit him with more than five years after the war was supposedly over. Yes, I celebrate the death of Voldemort but I also mourn for those who are not here to celebrate with us.  
**__JF-F: A fair point you make. How would you say the Wizarding World has changed since Voldemort's death?  
__**HW: Well for one thing you and I were able to return to Hogwarts for our NEWTs, weren't we?  
**__JF-F: [laughing] Well I suppose you're correct about that. Tell me, just how many NEWTs did you achieve?  
__**HW: I achieved nine NEWTs though admittedly I did not complete the Defense Against the Dark Arts test. I was awarding an outstanding grade for my contributions to the war efforts.  
**__JF-F: Be honest: Were any of your NEWT marks less than an 'O'?  
__**HW: Er... well... No. I received all Outstanding marks.  
**__JF-F: As all of us who knew you in school would have expected. You probably could have pulled out an 'Exceeds Expectations' in fifth year. Now, your exceptional NEWT scores resulted in your acceptance to the prestigious Magical Studies program at Oxford and then an apprenticeship at St. Mungo's. Can you tell us about your post Hogwarts education?  
__**HW: Well, I decided that I wished to pursue healing after the Battle of Hogwarts so I chose to concentrate my University studies in Potions, Charms, and Curse Removal. I was able to begin my apprenticeship at St. Mungo's in my third year of University and thus was able to finish my four year University degree and three year apprenticeship in a total of five years.  
**__JF-F: That is quite amazing. And in the midst of that, you got married to Ronald Weasley who joined Harry Potter in Auror training, hoping to round up the last of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's followers. Did Ron support your decision to pursue research in healing?  
__**HW: He did whole-heartedly. I only wish my research had been able to save him. The curse Mulciber hit him with slowly turned his lungs to stone. He held on for more than two years but we were never able to find a cure. My deepest regret is that he never met our son Hugo and that Rose was so young that she will likely not remember him. He was a wonderful man and so happy to be a father.  
**__JF-F: I am so sorry about your loss, Hermione. It's hard to believe it has been a year since his passing. How are you managing?  
__**HW: Well, it's difficult but we're managing. Moll watches the kids during the day so that I can work. She enjoys caring for them but I miss them desperately during the day. My career is unfortunately demanding of my time but I know that what I do is important so I will continue to work on it.  
**__JF-F: No one would argue your work isn't important, Hermione. You developed a cure for Spattergroit, a disease which has claimed many lives through the years.  
__**HW: I cannot take all the credit. There was a whole team of us working on it. In fact, it started as our third year apprenticeship project. It's a shame that Jane Grove chose to return to America after the trials were complete; we are now lacking a Potions Master.  
**__JF-F: I'm sure one will jump to join your research team. Now, I have heard that you have begun yours most ambitious project to date: a cure for lycanthropy.  
__**HW: Erm, well, ultimately that is our goal. Our first goal, however, is to simplify and shorten the brewing process for the Wolfsbane Potion. Few if any werewolves have the ability to brew it for themselves and because they find it difficult to obtain work, few could afford the ingredients, much less a brew from a master. As a result, the responsible people lock themselves up for three nights a month, lest they kill their family and friends, simply because they can't afford the potion.  
**__JF-F: I do understand that you provide the potion free of charge to any Hogwarts student, correct?  
__**HW: Yes, we do. We don't want any child missing out on the chance to be educated at Hogwarts because of circumstances beyond their control.  
**__JF-F: You seem to care about this very much.  
__**HW: I do. I see society's discrimination against werewolves to be abominable.  
**__JF-F: What would you say is the biggest problem that Wizarding Society is facing today?  
__**HW: Only one? Heh, well, I suppose that would be society's inability to embrace change.  
**__JF-F: Erm, could you explain that one for me?  
__**HW: I certainly won't deny that magic is a wonderful thing that makes life so much easier. However, Wizarding Britain has barely moved past the Dark Ages in many respects. We dress in robes—which I love, by the way—but many wizards don't even understand how muggles dress at all. At the world cup in 1994, I saw men walking around in lady's house dresses with combat boots.**_

_**Do you remember when I pulled out a spiral notebook the first day of History of Magic our first year? You would have thought it was some kind of science experiment. Oh! And when I first used a ball point pen, Ron asked me what kind of bird that came from and what spell I had used to make it refill the ink automatically.  
**__JF-F: Erm, well...  
__**HW: Don't get me started on electricity! While I don't fancy bearing the expense of an electric bill, I dearly miss my clothes washing machine and dryer. Oh! And the dishwasher.**__**The lack of acceptance of any muggle technology is only scratching the surface, of course. How many times have you been looked down upon for being muggle born? For not knowing some archaic wizarding custom that is so ancient it belongs in mythology?  
**__JF-F: You have a good point, Hermione. Muggles like yours and my parents do have certain technological advances that would make the lives of wizards easier. Hopefully muggleborns like us will be able to educate society as a whole.  
__**HW: I certainly hope so.  
**__JF-F: I thank you for your time in giving this interview. Good luck with your research!  
__**HW: And good luck to you in the rest of your interviews.**_

Severus considered the contents of the article, attempting to process all of the facts. So Hermion Granger—no, Weasley—was a widow at twenty-seven with two young children, one of who had never know his father. As much as Severus begrudged his own upbringing, he had to acknowledge that Ronald Weasley would have been a superior father to his own. It was a shame that those two children would grow up without him.

He had expected Hermione Granger to have some sort of illustrious career, though he hadn't imagined healing and he certainly hadn't imagined any type of work that involved advanced medical potions research. The cure for Spattergroit was ground-breaking, of course. He considered her current project of modifying the Wolfsbane and laughed to himself. It was likely a fool's errand she attempted. The potion was complicated for a reason and required expensive, rare ingredients to achieve the desired outcome. Why, the fluxweed alone... had the same effect as the more accessible and widely available Rhodiola Rosea. Potentially, anyway. That would also have the potential to replace the more volatile St. Jon's Wort that required precise stirring patterns and a long brewing time to become stable. Maybe his former student had a point...

Severus Snape left the paper and his dirty breakfast dishes at the table, rushing off to gather his notebook to begin calculations on whether Rhodiola Rosea was a potential substitute in the Wolfsbane. He was so preoccupied, he failed to noticed a large barn owl waiting in the tree outside his kitchen window.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Some back story in this chapter. Look for more of it in the coming chapters. I have ten years to account for. I will admit that the potion ingredients/processes are completely made up. Some ingredients are legitimate herbal supplements, some are taken from canon, some come from the Bestiary, and some are just made up out of nothing.

Thank you to all of you who have faved/followed/reviewed this story. As I said in the last chapter, reviews are the only payment I receive for my work. I do try to respond to reviews but you must be signed in for me to do so.

I am seeking a beta reader for this story as grammar and spelling are not my biggest strengths as a writer. I've currently written up to chapter ten with no end in sight. If anyone is interested in taking on such a task, please contact me via review or PM.


	4. Chapter 4

**Requiem for the Living**

By Jinxd n Cursed

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I merely play in the world of J.K. Rowling; she still owns the characters.

* * *

_Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,  
et lux perpetua luceat eis.  
Te decet hymnus, Deus, in Sion,  
et tibi reddetur votum in Jerusalem.  
Exaudi orationem meam,  
ad te omnis care veniet.  
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,  
et lux perpetua luceat eis. _

**Chapter Four**

Hermione put down the paper and sighed. She had mixed feelings about the interview she had given the Prophet even prior to its publication and now she really wasn't sure what to think. Yes, it would very soon be ten years since Voldemort's demise but it would also soon be a year since the death of her husband from the curse that had petrified his respiratory system.

Ron had been cursed by Mulciber in September of 2005, the day before her birthday and month before her due date with Rose. The curse had progressed much like pulmonary fibrosis only with the horrifying reality that it wasn't just scar tissue building up in his lungs; it was turning to stone. His symptoms had been hardly noticeable at first, and he had insisted on continuing like everything was normal. Rose was born a month later with a veritable cloud of red curls and Hermione spent her maternity leave torn between caring for her newborn daughter ad researching the curse by any means possible. She was able to find a potion that slowed the progress but there was no cure. He struggled on for more than two years as it gradually grew harder and harder to breathe. He was well enough to work a desk up until a month before his death when the potion ceased to be effective at all. Ron couldn't even sit up at that point, couldn't hold Rose who was almost two at the time, and choked for each breath.

The day before he died, Hermione had handed him a bottle of bright red potion.

_"I wouldn't recommend drinking that one," she said as he examined it._

_"Then why- exactly- is it- in my- hand?" he panted out._

_"I just thought you might want to know that you're having a son," she told him through a teary smile._

_"You're- you're- pregnant?" he panted out, his eyes brightening._

_She nodded. "About two months, apparently. That's why I was so sick."_

_"That's- that's- brilliant," he told her. "Come- come here." He held his arms open where he laid in her bed._

_She laid down carefully beside him, not wanting to inhibit his breathing but he had pulled her so her head rested on his shoulder. They had fallen asleep like that with Rosie in her crib at the foot of the bed. Early in the morning, Hermione had woken to Rosie's crying and realized that her husband's labored breathing had stopped._

His funeral befit his status as a war hero, and Hermione stood between Harry and Molly as they memorialized Ronald. Molly's tears were frozen in her grief at losing another child. The once mother of seven was then a mother of five. She held Rosie to her chest like she was her last lifeline. As for Hermione, Harry held one of her hands and the other hand rested where her unborn son was growing inside her.

When she had gone into labor she had been at work and Molly had been watching Rosie as usual. It had taken Hermione by surprise even though she had known she was due in a few days. Thankfully she hadn't exactly needed to go far as her office and lab were only a floor below Labor and Delivery. Labor had gone so fast that by the time Molly was on her way, Hugo was already in her arms.

Her son looked so much like Ron it was physically painful. His ginger read hair could be nothing but a Weasley trait and he appeared to have a miniature version of Ron's wide, flat nose. Molly, Arthur, Harry, and Ginny had came flooding in as Hermione started to nurse. She hadn't realized she was crying until Molly dabbed at her cheek with a tissue. Her life had changed that day.

In muggle Britain, women were entitled to fifty-two weeks of maternity leave. Unfortunately, that was one aspect of Wizarding Society that had not caught up to its muggle counterpart. She had a mere three months to adjust to being the single mother of two before returning to work and beginning her newest project. That was why she found herself sitting at her desk writing letters to various expert brewers.

She took out a piece of parchment from her desk and consulted her list for the next brewer she should contact: Jack Hier from Wales. She hadn't found his name under any of the registries of Potions Masters or journeymen but they seemed to trust him with a variety of very difficult potions. While he mostly supplied the hospital with pain relief potions and burn pastes, she noted that he had also produced a number of advanced fertility potions and even—she gulped—a few of the doses of the potion Ron had required to slow the curse.

Hermione removed a ball point pen from her top desk drawer, one concession to practicality she had made since finishing Hogwarts, as much as her Wizard-raised counterparts made fun of her for it. Putting pen to parchment, she began writing a letter almost identical to the thirteen others that she had written over the last few weeks.

_Dear Mr. Hier,_

_ I am Healer Hermione Weasley, contacting you on behalf of the advanced research department of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I am head of the research team recently responsible for discovering a cure for spattergroit. You may have read about it in the latest issue of 'Potions Quarterly' or in the Daily Prophet. _

_ We are hoping to continue our research in curing some of the worst diseases facing the Wizarding world by seeking a cure for lycanthropy. This disease carries with it not only horrible transformations during the full moon but also a great social stigma that prevents those affected from finding employment, obtaining an education, and participating in society in a normal manner as every other witch or wizard is entitled. _

_ Our first phase of research is to make improvements on the current formula for the Wolfsbane potion to make it more readily accessible for sufferers. We aim to replace rare, expensive ingredients with lower cost alternatives and to simplify the brewing process without negatively affecting the potion's efficacy. We have already begun this phase of research but are in need of a potions expert in order to progress further. _

_ In our second phase of research, we intend to create an actual cure for lycanthropy that would prevent transformation from occurring at all. Doing so will transform what was once a horrific, life altering condition into something inherently treatable. _

_ Your name was given to me by Healer Janice Davis, in charge of coordinating the supply of healing potions to St. Mungo's. She spoke highly of the quality of your brews and recommended that we seek you out for the possibility of assisting in our research. Becoming a part of our team comes with a competitive salary and a flexible working schedule. You would also be offered the chance to work with individuals in the tops of their fields on an innovative project that could benefit all wizard kind. _

_ I hope to discuss the possibility of you joining our team in person. If that is agreeable to you, please respond by return owl with a date and time that is convenient to you._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione Weasley  
Head of Medical Research  
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries_

Hermione read of the letter quickly to check the letter for spelling and grammar. Finding no errors, she rolled the parchment and applied her seal. She walked to the mail department of the hospital which was located behind the hospital shop on the fifth floor of the building.

"Hello Esther," she greeted the witch in charge of outgoing mail.

"Healer Weasley," the older woman said with a nod. "Just one request today?"

"Indeed," she said. "This one is headed to Wales."

"Do you know the exact city?" Esther asked.

Hermione shook head. "No, like many of our brewers, he guards his exact location."

"You want a tracing spell on this parchment?"

"No best not seems like we're invading his privacy before he's even agreed to work with us," Hermione replied.

"Very well," Esther said. "Best use Zelda then. Zelda! Come!"

A particularly large barn owl hopped down from one of perches and stuck out her leg. Esther took the scroll from Hermione and tied it to the owl's leg. She fed the owl a treat and it flew out the open window.

Hermione thanked Esther and made her way back down to her office. Done with her correspondence for the time being, she returned to her research notes. She theorized that replacing the fluxweed with Rhodiola Rosea would allow them to cut the require amount of St. Jon's Wort in half and reduce the number of stirs at that phase of brewing from three hundred twenty down to forty-seven anti-clockwise stirs. The Rhodiola Rosea required a shorter time to simmer but a hotter flame in order to incorporate the ingredient into the mixture correctly.

Prior to beginning her research into replacing ingredients and simplifying the ingredients, she had created a large number of detailed charts placing the twenty-nine ingredients into categories. The two most important factors in making the potion more widely accessible were cost and ease of brewing. The two most important charts she used were cost of ingredients and volatility of ingredients, separating them into three categories each. She examined the chart on volatility again.

**Least Volatile: **  
Distilled water  
Lemongrass  
Peppermint oil  
Aloe Vera Juice  
Fenugreek  
Turmeric  
Chamomile  
Lavender

**Moderately Volatile:**  
Essence of Grapefruit  
Lacewing Flies  
Bowtruckle liver  
St. Jon's Wort  
Asian Ginseng  
Whomping Willow root  
Echinacea  
Milk of the Mooncalf  
Valerian  
Jobberknoll feathers

**Highly Volatile: **  
Fluxweed  
Doxy Eggs  
Powdered horn of bicorn  
Enchanted Belladonna extract  
Thunder God Vine  
Passionflower  
Kava  
Gryphon feather  
Lycium  
Flesh Eating Slug mucus  
Aconite

From there, she cross referenced the list of the most volatile ingredients with the most expensive ingredients and came up with six ingredients that had the great impact on price and ease of brewing: fluxweed, flesh eating slug mucus, enchanted belladonna extract, gryphon feather, powdered horn of bicorn, and thunder god vine. Hermione estimated that if they eliminated those six ingredients, it would take the level of difficulty down from a masters level potion to an intermediate level potion that anyone having achieved an OWL in potions could create. It would also reduce the average cost per dose from twenty-four galleon a dose down to five to eight galleons per dose, depending on the replacement ingredients. If the brewing time was reduced, the cost of doses coming from apothecaries would also be greatly reduced. It still was far from an inexpensive potion but it was much more easily accessible for many families.

They had already found a suitable substitute for the fluxweed but there were at least five more ingredients to find appropriate substitutes for. If they were as fortunate as they were in the case of the Rhodiola Rosea, some substitutes might take the place of more than one ingredient or reduce the quantity needed of another ingredient. Her hope was to find an acceptable substitute for the powdered horn of bicorn next but it was proving more difficult than the the fluxweed substitution. Granted, animal based ingredients tended to be more difficult to find substitutes for.

She contemplated her charts for a few more minutes and then checked the time. It was three minutes to five which meant she could leave for the day. She cleaned up her notes, placing them in her top drawer, locking and warding the drawer for good measure. Tossing her lime green Healer's robes over her chair and donned her navy blue over robe on over her long skirt and white blouse. She made her way to the transportation room and with a pop apparated to Ottery St. Catchpole.

The air was brisk as she walked through the field toward the Burrow. Molly had very clearly been working on digging the beds for this years vegetable garden. The earth was freshly turned and Hermione could smell its deep, fresh scent. Thankfully, no mooncalf dung had been spread yet. She could hear the children laughing inside even as she approached the door. Teddy and Victoire were visiting for the week and she could hear Victoire telling Teddy to stop turning his nose different colors.

"Hello!" Hermione said cheerily as she came in.

"Hello dear," Molly said.

"Mommy!" Rosie called from the parlor, getting up from where she had been stacking blocks and running over to Hermione. She lifted her daughter up by the armpits and squeezed her tightly. "I missed you mommy!" she said.

"I missed you too, sweetheart," she said.

"Look what I can do!" Rosie said, pointing a chubby toddler hand at a block. Hermione watched in awe as the block rose a few inches from the carpet before falling back down. Rosie giggled, her red curls bouncing around her shoulders.

"That's wonderful, Rosie!" Hermione exclaimed, giving her tummy a poke. "Molly, have you seen this?"

"Amazing, isn't it?" Molly said. "She has your ability, Hermione."

"Oh Ron had plenty of power too," Hermione said, her chest tightening.

Molly smiled wanly. "Will you be staying for dinner?"

"If that's okay. I need to go to the market this weekend," Hermione said.

"Of course, dear," Molly said. "You're always welcome."

Rosie started wiggling in Hermione's arms so she set her down. As she did that, she heard Hugo begin to fuss in the bassinet near Molly. Before her mother-in-law could put down the potatoes, Hermione already had him in her arms. "Has he been fed recently?"

Molly shook her head. "I know you usually like to nurse him when you get here."

"Thank you," Hermione said, settling in a chair at the kitchen table and unbuttoning her blouse. She shushed the fussy baby and he quickly latched on.

"I do wish you'd reconsider living with Arthur and I, dear. It's so lonely for us here with all the children moved out. There's plenty of space for you and the children to have your own rooms and I can't imagine it's easy taking care of them all on your own," Molly told her.

"It isn't," Hermione agreed. "But I love the home that Ron and I built together. I just can't leave it, Molly."

Molly nodded but Hermione could see the tears in her eyes at the mention of her youngest son. Hermione sighed. "I'll think about it, Molly but for now, I need to stay where I am."

"I understand," Molly said. "Just know the offer always stands."

"I know," she replied. "I know." She looked down at her son who looked painfully like her husband and sighed inwardly. As tempting as it would be to let Molly take care of them all, she knew she needed to stand on her own two feet and forge her own way.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Posting earlier than usual because I anticipate a very busy weekend.

As usual, your reviews are the only payment I receive for writing this story. While the favorites and story follows are wonderful, nothing quite compares to getting written feedback. While I'm not one to hold chapters hostage until I get a certain number of reviews, they are very inspiring to be able to keep writing. I expect this story to be novel length (upwards of 50k words) and will be posting chapters weekly.

Once again, I am also searching for a beta reader. If anyone is willing to take on such a task, please let me know.


	5. Chapter 5

**Requiem for the Living**

By Jinxd n Cursed

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I merely play in the world of J.K. Rowling; she still owns the characters.

* * *

_Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,**  
**et lux perpetua luceat eis.**  
**Te decet hymnus, Deus, in Sion,**  
**et tibi reddetur votum in Jerusalem.**  
**Exaudi orationem meam,**  
**ad te omnis care veniet.**  
**Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,**  
**et lux perpetua luceat eis._

**Chapter Five**

Severus looked over the calculations he had done on Granger—no, Weasley's—project. He was right that Rhodiola Rosea could be substituted by fluxweed but with further calculation, it did not fully take the place of the St. John's Wort. Rather, it decreased the amount needed by half. It also reduced the required number of stirs from three hundred twenty down to forty-seven. It also reduced the required simmer time from eight hours down to a slim twenty-eight minutes, though the flame needed to be higher in order to bind the Rhodiola Rosea to the Aloe Vera juice in the base.

He considered the other ingredients of the Wolfsbane potion and his eyes zeroed in on the egregiously expensive Griffin feathers. The potion required three feathers to the tune of twenty galleons in total. He had previously substituted Hippogriff feathers for Griffin feathers in other potions, though more feathers were required. He began running the arithmancy calculations for an equivalent to the three Griffin feathers. It took close to twenty minutes to write out the complex equation that would reveal the quantity needed, the time needed to incorporate, and the direction of stirring required. He tapped his wand against the parchment and watched as numbers appeared in the appropriate spots: Five feathers, seven minutes to incorporate (down from half an hour), and anti-clockwise stirring. That was typical of Griffin feathers, though.

Severus was unsure as to why he was performing these calculations for Granger—no, Weasley. Damn if he could ever get the chit's last name correct. Her theory was interesting and apparently had merit given that he had (ust replaced two ingredients with lower cost, less volatile elements with relative ease. His experience in potion development and working with masters had shown him that there was a certain level of ingredient snobbery. They used the highest quality, most finicky ingredients simply because they could. They weren't trying to create a potion that an average brewer could recreate; they wanted to make a master's level potion. In order to generate the most money from developing a potion, they needed to sell the formula, obviously, but money could also be made by brewing and selling the potion at a high mark up. Generally, the retail cost of a prepared potion was two to three times the cost of the ingredients and the royalties for the formula. He knew all this, of course, because he was a Potions master who made his living by brewing and selling potions.

Severus rubbed his temples and pulled his pocket watch from his trousers and checked the time: half past noon. He left his notes on the desk and ascended the steps from the cellar. He would need to dedicate his afternoon to brewing the latest shipment of burn paste requested from St. Mungo's and ignoring the issues of the Wolfsbane. It wasn't as if it would make him any money. Rather, he supposed it was merely an academic curiosity to try to solve the problem.

As he passed through the garden to enter the house once more, he heard an owl hoot and looked up just as a large barn owl flew down, landing on his shoulder. It stuck out its leg and Severus untied the proffered scroll. It bore the obnoxiously bright lime green seal on the outside so he assumed it was merely another order for potions. He offered the owl a treat but it did not fly off and instead perched on a branch. Peculiar.

Setting the scroll on the worn kitchen table, he prepared himself a sandwich with leftover roast beef and Welsh rarebit. Grabbing a bottle of pale ale from the cold storage cabinet and packet of crisps from the pantry, he sat down at the table. Taking a bite of the sandwich, he broke the seal on the scroll. He read the first sentence and almost spat his sandwich back out. This was an unexpected turn.

_Dear Mr. Hier,_

_ I am Healer Hermione Weasley, contacting you on behalf of the advanced research department of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I am head of the research team recently responsible for discovering a cure for spattergroit. _**Yes, he had heard about that one and was surprised that she had chosen to be involved in potion development. **_You may have read about it in the latest issue of 'Potions Quarterly' or in the Daily Prophet. _**He hadn't had time to read either article but curiosity drew him to consider spending his evening reading time on those articles.**

_ We are hoping to continue our research in curing some of the worst diseases facing the Wizarding world by seeking a cure for lycanthropy. This disease carries with it not only horrible transformations during the full moon but also a great social stigma that presents those affected from finding employment, gaining an education, and participating in society in a normal manner. _**There was no difficulty in finding employment when Albus Dumbledore was involved. He was still resentful that the old man had hired Lupin.**

_ Our first phase of research is to make improvements on the current formula for the Wolfsbane potion to make it more readily accessible for sufferers. We aim to replace rare, expensive ingredients with lower cost alternatives and simplify the brewing process without negatively affecting the potion's efficacy. We have already begun this phase of research but are in need of a potions expert in order to progress further. _

_ In our second phase of research, we intend to create an actual cure for lycanthropy that would prevent transformation from occurring at all. Doing so will transform what was once a horrific, life altering condition into something inherently treatable. _**Good luck with that one. Many Potions masters better than him had failed at that task. No wonder she was having trouble getting a new Potions master to join her team. **

_ Your name was given to me by Healer Janice Davis, in charge of coordinating the supply of healing potions to St. Mungo's. She spoke highly of the quality of your brews and recommended that we seek you out for the possibility of assisting in our research. _**He highly doubted she had said anything of the sort. **_Becoming a part of our team comes with a competitive salary and a flexible working schedule. _**Not nearly as flexible as his own schedule. **_You would also be offered the chance to work with individuals in the tops of their fields on an innovative project that could benefit all wizard kind. _**And by all wizard kind, she meant a highly specialized population. He didn't know who else was on the team to be able to evaluate that those involved were at the tops of their respective fields. **

_ I hope to discuss the possibility of you joining our team in person. If that is agreeable to you, please respond by return owl with a date and time that is convenient to you._

_Sincerely,_

_Hermione Weasley  
Head of Medical Research  
St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries_

It read like a form letter. She must be getting desperate if she was sending out letters to potioneers who didn't even have a registered mastery. Granted, he had one but as far as Hermione Weasley was concerned, he was Jack Hier, a Welsh potions technician who made a few more advanced potions for the hospital. He would have to reply, if only to make a point of her desperation.

He chewed his sandwich and contemplated what to reply. The nasty professor in him wanted to send back some kind of demeaning reply about her education and lack of talent. He considered making fun of her inability to get someone to work with her prior to her contacting every single brewer St. Mungo's contracted with. The other part of him was curious. He wanted to know if they had any leads about ingredient substitutions thus far. Working with them would never do, of course. That would require him to reveal his status of being among the living.

The Wizarding world was not a forgiving society. Though he had seen that Harry Potter had made sure of his status as a hero and he'd seen his name exalted far beyond what he could have previously imagined, he had a suspicion that if he were to come forth, he would immediately be put on trial for the death of Albus Dumbledore. People don't just forget when you've killed one of the most venerated wizards of all time. He doubted he would receive a hero's welcome.

Upon finishing his lunch, he placed the dishes in the sink and waved his wand to set them to scrubbing. He could spare a few minutes to pen a response before it was necessary to begin brewing in his basement lab.

**Dear Healer Weasley, **

** Greater wizards than yourself have attempted this project without any success. Do you presume to know better than the likes of Nicholas Flamel, the great alchemist himself? Your cause to cure lycanthropy will bring you only grief and disappointment—do not presume otherwise. **

** Your suggestion to simplify the brewing process for the Wolfsbane potion may have some merit, a fact that will only come to light with time. I have no desire to take up any of my precious time meeting with you in person until you can prove to me that you can communicate concisely, a concept that you do not seem to grasp based on your rambling interview with the Daily Prophet. You shall convey the research you have completed thus far in a brief manner and after I have read it, I will consider whether or not your little project is worthy of my time. **

** I can also assure you that as far as government wages are concerned, you can take their idea of a generous salary and double it. That should make sufficient pay for my expertise, should I deign to join your ragtag team. **

**Sincerely,**

**Jack Hier**

Reading over the letter once, he sealed the parchment and went outside, calling for the owl that had delivered it. The bird extended its leg for him to tie the scroll on. He offered one more owl nut and the bird took off, digging its claws somewhat painfully into Severus' shoulder as it took off. Satisfied that the healer was sufficiently chastened and would reply soon, he descended the cellar steps into his lab.

The first task of the day was a simple burn paste. He set a number two pewter cauldron onto the rack and lit a fire underneath, adding two quarts of water to the cauldron. Mindlessly, he began crushing wintergreen leaves into a fine powder, tipping it into the cauldron once complete. Next, he crushed willow bark and tipped it into the cart as well, stirring the cauldron three times clockwise, and twice anticlockwise with a glass stirring rod. The brew turned a light brown and began to steam. He had enough time to prepare the rest of the ingredients while the potion simmered. After adding two unicorn tail hairs, he stirred again.

After the number of times he had brewed this potion, he could practically do it while asleep. His movements were precise and methodical with a graceful economy of motion. Nothing was wasted, not even the tiniest fleck of powder or drop of juice. The act of brewing was calming to him normally, but he could not seem to turn his mind to its usual empty state whilst performing such a routine task. Instead, he was stuck on thinking about Weasley's proposed potion. He had already established that the idea had merit and he found himself surprisingly looking forward to a response to his missive. It was likely to be entertaining, even if it was not informative. She had been a typical hot-tempered Gryffindor as a school girl, incapable of containing any sort of strong emotion. As a first year she had locked herself in a bathroom, simply because a classmate was unkind to her. She had punched Draco Malfoy in a fit of pique at thirteen. Who knew what she had done since then? Once a Gryffindor, always a Gryffindor.

He made no effort to consider what would happen if they maintained a correspondence. That would come as a complete surprise later on.

* * *

Author's notes: Thank you to the wonder DanB86 for beta reding this chapter and saving you all from my complete inability to spell or use proper grammar. You have no idea.

As always, please review. I love hearing from my readers.


	6. Chapter 6

**Requiem for the Living**

By Jinxd n Cursed

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I merely play in the world of J.K. Rowling; she still owns the characters.

* * *

_Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,  
et lux perpetua luceat eis.  
Te decet hymnus, Deus, in Sion,  
et tibi reddetur votum in Jerusalem.  
Exaudi orationem meam,  
ad te omnis care veniet.  
Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,  
et lux perpetua luceat eis. _

**Chapter Six**

Upon returning home from dinner at the Weasley's, it was already Rosie's bed time, though she was a bit riled up on Molly's excellent chocolate trifle. With Hugo strapped tightly to her chest in a sling, Hermione dressed the three-year-old girl in her pyjamas and read from the Tales of Beetle the Bard for the nine hundredth time it seemed. Rosie fixated on the story of Babbity Rabbity like no other. By the time Rose was tucked in and asleep, Hermione was ready to find her own night dress but unfortunately, her son had other ideas.

From day one, Hugo had been the baby of dreams. He slept through the night at three weeks old, never had colic, never had a diaper rash (partially due to Molly's homebrew of diaper cream), and hit all of his milestones right on the nose. It was almost like he knew that his mother needed him to be easy. Unfortunately, he chose one of his rare moments to fuss right as Hermione wanted nothing more than to rest with a cup of Earl Grey and listen to the radio.

A quick look into his nappy revealed the issue. With a sigh, she opened the door to his nursery and laid him on the changing table. A quick tap to the front of the diaper whisked away the soiled one into the pail of nappies to be washed. Hermione quickly laid a towel over him, having been sprayed in the face before. Cleaning him up quickly, she pointed her wand at a fresh nappy, whispered the incantation Molly had taught her, and watched as it wrapped itself snugly around her son. After changing him into a little orange Chudley Cannons sleeper that had been a present from Percy, of all people, she carried him downstairs and into the kitchen.

It had been quite a task to have the kitchen created to her specifications when they had built the house. She had insisted on adding a few Muggle components to its design, much to Molly's frustration. Hermione had given in on having cold storage cabinets in lieu of a refrigerator, seeing the cost advantages, but she had flat out refused to compromise on the stove. While she herself had grown up with an electric range, she knew many people who considered gas to be far superior. Given that she lived in Hogsmeade, it was much easier to get a gas tank than to somehow install a generator or hook into the nearest electric lines.

She put Hugo down in the baby seat while she prepared a cup of tea and put away the dishes that had been drying by the sink. It was a constant battle to keep the house clean with only one of her to take care of two children. Rose was like a cyclone with her toys at times. And the books, oh my word the books. Despite not being able to read yet, she would take books off the shelf and flip through them, looking at the words and pictures. It was quite adorable only that she never put them back, leaving Hermione to do it. Though there were at least a dozen books strewn about the floor in the sitting room, Hermione ignored them once her tea was brewed, turning on the radio and settling in with Hugo.

After nursing and burping him, she laid him on her chest, leaning back against the cushions and closing her eyes. Ron had been amazing at caring for baby Rose. That was back when his symptoms were barely noticeable. Hermione would nurse her but Ron would burp her, getting surprisingly large belches with only a few pats on the back. He could swaddle her perfectly without an incantation. It was almost eerie how well he could identify why she was crying when Hermione had been ready to pull her hair out. Hermione briefly wondered if part of the reason for the very prolific Weasley clan was because of some kind of innate parenting gift.

Hermione had to do without those skills with Hugo. For the most part, she was doing fine. Hugo was the easy baby after all, but some things just didn't come naturally to her. There had been one incident when she would have sworn she would never get Hugo to burp. Then there had been the day two weeks from the end of her maternity leave when all three of them had the stomach flu. That was the only time Hermione had caved and stayed with Molly and Arthur.

Life would be so much easier if she would live with them full time. She wouldn't have to cook or clean or grocery shop or do the laundry or the mending or any number of mundane chores. Rose would love it, especially when the cousins visited. Arthur would give them privacy though Molly wasn't likely to.

Hermione just couldn't give up the house she and Ron had built together though. He had insisted on six bedrooms, absolutely sure that Hermione would eventually cave on her three child limit. Hermione had transformed one into a library, one into a guest room, and one into a storage space for all of Ron's Quidditch memorabilia. Now it was filled with some of his things she just couldn't bear to get rid of. Most of it Harry and Ginny had helped her clear out, but there were a few things she couldn't let go of like his watch and the broomstick he had gotten when he became a prefect. The robes he wore to their wedding hung alongside her wedding dress in the closet in that room. Last but not least was a half full bottle of his cologne. When he had no longer been able to get out of bed, she had applied it for him every day. She had smelled it that awful morning she had woken up with him no longer breathing. The scent always brought back a flood of memories, both good and bad.

One of her most selfish reasons for not wanting to leave, though, was in the basement. She had a potion's laboratory down there. It wasn't nearly as nice as the one at St. Mungo's, but it was perfect for the occasional research experiment and for brewing remedies and household potions. It had been a tough sell to Ron but he had given in eventually. It was in that lab that she had made attempt after fruitless attempt to make a potion to cure him. It had never happened, though one potion she had created had turned out to be beneficial to sufferers of asthma.

Hugo was stirring against her chest, letting out soft little moans. Hermione groaned herself and gathered him in her arms. She locked the doors and turned out the light with a flick of her wand and carried Hugo up the stairs. She laid him down in his crib, singing a lullaby to the already drowsy baby

Rose was fast asleep when she checked on her, so Hermione dimmed the hall lights and went into her own room, leaving the door open in case Rosie woke up with a nightmare. She changed into her night dress, a soft flannel thing Ron had called her grandma dress, and slipped into bed. For once, the book on her bedside table was a novel. It was a spectacularly awful thing Ginny had told her was all the rage in book clubs because of the scandalous sex scenes. It was a guilty pleasure but it was entertaining. She read a chapter before turning off the lamps with a wave of her wand and went to sleep.

_She was back at Hogwarts again. The worn stone walls and floor looked just like she remembered from the last time she had visited at the five year anniversary. The portraits and suits of armour were all the same. Everything looked right, only she could tell that something was wrong even if she couldn't put her finger on it. _

_ The heels of her ankle boots clicked against the stone floor as she pushed open the doors to the Great Hall. Candles floated below a starry ceiling as she made her way between the tables. She paused just before reaching the head table and stared down at the giant bronze seal set in the stone floor. There was a giant phoenix carved into the metal, with words below it saying "On this spot on May 2__nd__, 1998, Tom Riddle, known as Lord Voldemort, was defeated by Harry Potter." _

_ She looked up, staring at the walls. Something was off but what was it? She heard whispers behind her but when she turned, there was no one there, not even a ghost or a portrait..._

_ The portraits. That was what was wrong; all of the portraits were empty. She frowned and turned to exit the hall, the echoing of her footsteps almost deafening. More whispers. Following the sound of the whispers, she made her way down the corridors of Hogwarts, past endless expanses of empty frames. She wound her way around the castle, up and down staircases and through a secret passage. She almost lost the whispers once when a moving staircase swung while she was on it. She had to run in order to catch them again but she did, though she had to run faster and faster to keep up. The whispers were getting louder as she climbed the stairs. It was becoming less of a whisper and more of someone speaking to her, though she couldn't make out a word they were saying. She bounded up the steps onto the seventh floor, going to the left corridor when all of a sudden, the voices stopped. _

_ Hermione dropped to her knees, panting from the exertion of running through the castle, her own heart roaring in her ears. Finally, when she could breathe again, she looked up and realized where she was: outside the Room of Requirement. _

_ "Who are you?" a voice said, whispering just behind her. She looked, but still there was no one there. _

_ "Hermione Weasley," she said. "Who are you?" _

_ "I am an old, old woman. I have seen millenniums pass by. I am the wind and the grass. I am the stone beneath your feet. Magic runs through me, given to me by so many they gave me life. I am... I am..." the voice said. _

_ "You are... who?" Hermione asked. _

_ "I am... Hogwarts," the voice said. "And you are one of my daughters, Hermione Granger, born of my magic." _

_ Hermione couldn't speak, could hardly breathe at that. _

_ "I know who you seek," the voice said. _

_ "Wh-Who?" _

_ "The raven man," it said. "He has the answers you seek." _

_ "I don't know who the raven man is," Hermione argued. "I can't possibly be seeking this person." _

_ "You do, child. You seek the one with knowledge to complete your task and you will find him," the voice said. _

_ "Where? Where will I find him?" she asked. _

_ "You already have," the voice said. _

_ "What? I couldn't possibly!" Hermione replied. Suddenly, a door appeared in the wall ahead of her. She lunged at it, turning the knob and throwing herself inside to shut out the voice that made no sense. At first, she saw nothing, only an empty room with sooty, burnt floors and broken mirrors. _

_ But then there was a face in the mirror besides her own, a face she hadn't seen in ten years. She whirled to look at him. Severus Snape regarded her coolly. He was different and yet the same. Tall and thin as ever with a strong roman nose, his hair was long, caught back in a tail at the nape of his neck. He had grown a goatee, which softened his appearance somehow. Overall he looked less harsh, the billowing, chin high robes replaces with charcoal trousers and a black turtleneck sweater. He was almost attractive. _

_ "Miss Granger," he said, his voice velvety smooth. _

_ "Weasley," she said. "I am a Weasley now." _

_ "Are you sure?" he asked. _

_ "Very much so," she told him, frowning. _

_ "I'm not," he said, reaching out and touching her shoulder. _

_ Hermione was bewildered. "Can you help?" _

_ "I already have," he said, Hugo appearing in his arms as Rose began to tug on her skirts. _

_ "That's not the help I meant," she replied. _

_ "Isn't it?" _

The last memory of the dream Hermione had was of Severus Snape staring at her with a quirked eyebrow.

* * *

Author's Notes:

Thanks again to the wonderful Danb86 for editing this chapter and saving you from my awful spelling and grammar.


	7. Chapter 7

**Requiem for the Living**

By Jinxd n Cursed

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I merely play in the world of J.K. Rowling; she still owns the characters.

* * *

_Kyrie, eleison.  
Christe, eleison.  
Kyrie, eleison. _

**Chapter Seven**

Severus Snape did not sleep well the night after he received Hermione Weasley's letter. His slumber was plagued with a series of strange dreams and ended with a nightmare. In his first dream, he had been hiking through the park, as he often did, when he came upon Hermione. She looked just as he remembered her: of medium height and very slender with her cloud of curly brown hair pulled into a ponytail. She was wearing khaki cargo pants with a cream coloured long sleeved tee shirt and a green vest. She had a small backpack with a canteen dangling from it and all of this was capped off with a fishing hat. She smiled at him. "Fancy a hike?" she asked.

"No," he replied.

"Oh come now, Severus, I know you go out walking every Monday afternoon. Let's go," she said.

"Yes, I take a walk through the mountains on Mondays but I do so _alone_," he shot back.

"You can be alone with me," she told him. "Let's go." She grabbed his hand and started tugging him along the path.

"Unhand me, woman!" he yelled. "Alone means solitary. One person, not two, and certainly not an obnoxious know-it-all child like yourself."

"I'm not a child anymore, Severus," she reminded him. "I'm a Healer and a married woman, you know."

She was changing before his eyes: the bushy mane of hair lengthening and softening down to something much less ridiculous, dark smudges forming beneath her eyes, imperceptibly fine wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, and a slightly thickened middle. Only, her middle wasn't just slightly thickened; it was growing, pushing outward as if there were a Quaffle under her shirt.

"Miss Granger, you—you—"

"Mrs. Weasley," she reminded him. "Though that does remind me frightfully of Molly."

Molly Weasley was a Gryffindor lioness stuffed into a dumpy matron's body. Even Severus Snape was afraid of her when she was in one of her moods or dealing with a perceived wrong. Nevertheless, there was no Molly Weasley anywhere to be seen, only the young Mrs. Weasley who was suddenly very pregnant.

Her gait developed a marked waddle but she kept dragging him along the trail. He was slightly concerned that she would hurt herself as she practically sprinted down the path. Even though she released his hand, he chased after her, worried for her safety. He recognized the trail they were on as one he had hiked many times up one of the peaks. The trail had a few steep sections that were coming up ahead of them, just through the trees.

"Miss Granger—" he began to shout.

"It's Mrs. Weasley!" she reminded, though her tone was oddly playful.

How she ran with her belly bouncing as it did was beyond his understanding. She was barely breathing heavily, even though he was starting to pant as he ran after her. He ran as a form of disciplined exercise but not like this. She was relentless. On and on they ran up the steep mountain, not stopping. Hermione didn't even slow until they were through the tree line when she came to a walk, clutching her lower stomach.

"It's time," she said, leaning against a rock.

"Stupid girl!" he said. "You have ran us up a mountain away from any help! I will apparate away to get a healer."

"No you will not," she said. "You will stay here and you will help me!" She slid down the rock so she was sitting on the ground, clutching her huge stomach and moaning.

Severus was at a loss. He had a variety of experiences in all matters of magical disciplines including some more minor forms of healing. He did not, however, have any experience with childbirth. He had never even seen a woman in labour before. Severus blushed as Hermione began working at the zipper of her trousers. "What do I do?" he asked.

"Catch! Catch him!" she shouted out.

He didn't know much about labour but he knew this wasn't normal; she was already pushing in earnest and he reluctantly came to kneel between her legs, trying not to look too hard while she pushed a baby out and into his outstretched arms. He caught it and looked down at his hands. He was holding the tiny thing which started wailing almost immediately. The shocking part of it was that the baby had a head of black hair.

"Oh he's beautiful, Severus," Hermione cooed. "Your son is beautiful."

He looked down and verified that it was, indeed, a boy before her last sentence sunk in. Oddly, though, he didn't doubt it. This was his son he was holding. The emotions were indescribable as he held the child in his arms, gently wiping away the blood and such from his face. Hermione had pulled a blanket out of her backpack that he wrapped around the baby. He looked from the baby's face to Hermione, who was beaming, and smiled at her. He leaned in to kiss her and then...

He woke up. In his bed at the stone cottage in Wales. He panted. It hadn't been a nightmare but it certainly had been strange. He thought about the odd vision of Hermione appearing in her hiking attire and then her dragging him up the trail, her growing belly bouncing. Then was the terror at the sight of her in labour and then... his son. The feelings were indescribable. He had never felt such joy in his real life.

His real life.

He shook his head and pulled the sheets up higher, turning onto his side and pulling his knees towards his chest. He would never have a son so it was useless to think on things like that. Sleep returned quickly despite his racing thoughts.

He had a few more dreams, snippets of unreality: brewing a love potion at Hogwarts, riding a bicycle with Percy Weasley, doing the tango with Gilderoy Lockhart, helping Lucius Malfoy dye his roots blonde, Narcissa threatening to dye his own hair pink, and going on a picnic with both Potters. While strange, those dreams weren't horrifying but what followed was.

He was once again walking the trails near his home with Hermione Weasley. It didn't bother him, though. They talked amicably about an article recently published by her co-worker, Terry Boot. He had apparently written an article theorizing an antidote for the Draught of the Living Death. Hermione thought the proposition had merit, but Severus disagreed.

"I don't suppose you'd be willing to give it a go. Take a Draught of the Living Death and then have the supposed antidote, hmm?" he asked.

"Of course not," she said. "I said the idea has merit, not that it is ready to go. Though if you keep talking like that, I may just try it out on you."

"I daresay you will find that impossible as I have the natural ability to sniff out most potions when added to food or beverage."

"You're impossible," she told him.

"I never pretended to be anything else," he replied.

They walked in silence for a few minutes. Hermione stopped by a tree after a few moments. "I think I see knot grass in the clearing over there. We should get some. It's the full moon."

His chest constricted; he had forgotten. The full moon had always brought such a sense of foreboding, ever since Sirius Black had lured him to his near death. "Yes, I suppose we should. Is there enough room in that back pack of yours?"

She nodded. "Let's go."

He followed her as she made her way over to the clearing. As she had said, the clearing was full of knot grass. She opened her pack and handed him a silver bladed knife and they both set to work harvesting the grass. It could not be shrunk or reduced in any way or else the magical properties would be gone so the amount they could collect was limited. Hermione handed him a leather pouch for him to stuff with grass.

"Isn't the full moon lovely?" Hermione asked.

He looked up to realize that darkness had fallen and the moon was a glowing circle above them. A deep feeling of dread and anxiety filled him. Something was wrong. "We need to turn back, Hermione," he said. "There is danger here."

"Don't be silly," she said.

"I am never silly," he told her with a scowl. "We need to leave this place immediately."

She shrugged and stuffed the leather pouches of knot grass into her backpack and straightened, slinging the bag over one shoulder. "Come on, then, if you're so worried."

He set out swiftly back toward the path with Hermione trailing behind him. He could hear her panting, as she had to jog to keep up but he didn't care; they needed to get away.

"Severus," she said.

"Not now!" he shot back. "Quickly!"

"Severus!" she cried.

He turned around and his heart was frozen solid. A werewolf was emerging from the trees coming right for her.

"Hermione! Apparate away! Forget about the knot grass! Get away!" he shouted at her, frozen and unable to follow his own advice. It was too late, though. She screamed as the beast lashed out at her with its claws and teeth. Severus remained frozen in horror as her screams abruptly ended when the beast tore at her throat. It was savage, tearing at her flesh.

He was still frozen in place as the creature advanced on him. All of his senses were magnified. He could hear the wolf's heavy breathing as it approached him, smell Hermione's blood on its lips, and feel it's hot breath. Just as the animal reared back to attack, he woke up.

The clock on his bedside table told him it was half-past ten, the latest he had ever recalled sleeping in his life. When he made his way to the kitchen and looked out the window, a now familiar looking barn owl sat in the tree, a letter clamped in its beak.


	8. Chapter 8

**Requiem for the Living**

By Jinxd n Cursed

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I merely play in the world of J.K. Rowling; she still owns the characters.

* * *

_Kyrie, eleison.  
Christe, eleison.  
Kyrie, eleison. _

**Chapter Eight**

Hermione woke up to Rose snoring beside her and Hugo fussing in his nursery. Careful not to disturb the toddler, she went to go change and nurse her son. As she leaned back in the rocking chair in his room, she closed her eyes. What an odd dream that had been, with Severus Snape appearing in front of her. While she knew his expertise would be just what they needed for their research team, she placed that likelihood somewhere between the Chudley Cannon's winning the cup and Hagrid winning the election for Minister of Magic. Hopefully one of the people she had contacted would respond favourably. Hermione put Hugo back in the crib after she burped him and went to go wake Rosie. She dressed her daughter and let her play in her own room while Hermione dressed herself.

While Hermione knew that wearing the lime green robes of a Healer was an honour, she just couldn't love the color. She wore them in the hospital itself but never at any other time. She dressed in an off-white blouse and smart brown tweed trousers with brown ankle boots underneath. She topped it off with a navy over robe, trimmed in velvet. Her hair was twisted into a knot at the nape of her neck and she was ready to bring the children to Molly's for breakfast.

As usual, Molly had killed the fatted calf for breakfast and ensured the children were cared for so Hermione could eat uninterrupted before work. She helped herself to eggs, toast, beans, a broiled tomato, and black pudding.

"Thank you Molly," Hermione said. "You have no idea how much it means to me that you take care of the children for me. I really couldn't do it without you."

"Nonsense," Molly said. "You're not the first widow that has ever existed, Hermione."

Hermione shook her head. "I know that, Molly, but I certainly couldn't keep doing my job without your help. If I had to pay a nanny, we would not be able to keep the house. Speaking of which, I do wish you would let me do more to help."

Molly shook her head. "I won't hear of it. Without seven extra mouths to feed, we hardly know what to do with our money anymore. The occasional sack of groceries and Muggle trinket for Arthur is more payment than we need dear. Save your money for the children. It will be time to send Rosie to Hogwarts before you know it."

"We're doing just fine, Molly," Hermione said. "The royalties from the spattergroit cure have brought in quite bit. I've got enough savings now to send both of them to Hogwarts so long as I'm careful."

As they were talking, Hermione heard the door open. "Hello!" a voice called.

Harry popped his head into the kitchen. "Hello Molly. Hermione, I didn't know you'd be here still. Ginny's on the way too. James and Albus started chasing a gnome." As he stepped into the kitchen, Hermione got up to give him a hug and Molly began fussing over him.

"Good to see you, Harry dear. It has been the longest time," Molly said, squashing him into a hug.

"It's only been four days," Harry reminded her. "You know, the usual Sunday dinner."

"Well," Molly said. "It feels like it's been the longest. Have a seat, fill a plate. I'll get you a cuppa."

As Harry began serving himself, Ginny came in leading the two boys who were covered in mud. She was lecturing them for getting their clothes dirty. At the same time, Victoire and Teddy came running down the steps, arguing about some game they had played the day before. Hermione hugged each child in turn and gave Ginny a rushed greeting as she finished her breakfast. Ginny asked her about how work was going and made small talk before Hermione needed to leave for the Hospital.

"I'll come with, Hermione," Harry said, pushing out his chair and standing up. "I need to stop into Saint Mungo's to speak to a curse victim."

"All right," Hermione replied. She placed both of their plates in the sink and made the rounds of hugging goodbye. Once that was done, Hermione and Harry made their way down the lane.

"How are you, really, Hermione?" Harry asked.

"I'm fine," she replied. "How are you, _really,_ Harry?"

"You know what I mean, Hermione," he replied. "How are you holding up?"

She shrugged. "We're fine, I suppose. Rose and Hugo get bigger every day though I don't get to spend half as much time with them as I'd like. Work gets more difficult by the day. This project won't get off the ground if we don't find a new potion's master."

Harry shook his head. "That isn't what I mean. How are you, you know, emotionally?"

She paused and thought about it. "As good as someone who lost her husband a year ago and had a son he will never know can be doing, I think. Some days, I forget that he is gone. I'll wake up in the morning and for just a moment, I expect to roll over and feel him next to me. Sometimes, I think of something that I want to tell him, only to remember that I'll never tell him anything. Harry, he was my husband and the father of my children and I lost him in possibly the worst way ever: agonizingly slowly. There were days when I wished he had died instantly, not slowly over the course of two years. Isn't that a horrible thing to say? Toward the end, I know he jut wanted to end it." A thought occurred to her. "Did he... did he ever ask you?"

"Ask me what, Hermione?"

"To... to end it for him," she said. "I... god help me... I offered when the potion stopped working but he told me he couldn't ask that of me. I knew it was what he wanted though. Did he ask you?"

Harry stopped in his tracks, covering his face with his hands.

"What is it, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"He did," Harry said, his voice muffled. He uncovered his face and repeated himself. "He did. He asked me."

Hermione nodded.

"I couldn't do it, though," Harry said. "As much as I wanted it to be over, I couldn't kill my best friend. I couldn't do it to you either; I couldn't take your husband away from you."

Hermione nodded again. "I understand why. I wouldn't have held it against you if you had. He was suffering so deeply, I could hardly bear it. He told me he couldn't ask it of me but a week before he died, I almost did. He was choking so badly in his sleep, I could barely stand to be in the same room. How selfish is that, my husband was dying and I could barely stand to be with him?"

"It wasn't selfish Hermione," Harry said, patting her shoulder. "Hermione, did he get to know about Hugo? Did he know you were pregnant?"

Hermione nodded, the tears sparkling in her eyes. "It was the last conversation we ever had. I told him after I put Rose to bed. When I woke up later that night, he was cold and he breathed no more."

"Well at least he knew," Harry said. "One last happy thought."

She nodded. "Look at us, getting all teary before work. We need to stop that."

"Sorry Hermione," he said. "Let's get on, then."

With a crack, they both apparated into the transportation room of St. Mungo's. They hugged farewell before Hermione headed to her office and Harry went toward the spell damage ward. Waiting on her desk was a letter, presumably a response to yesterday's missive to Jack Hier. Hanging her navy robes on the door and donning her lime green robes, she sat down and broke the seal on the letter.

**Dear Healer Weasley, **

** Greater wizards than yourself have attempted this project without any success. Do you presume to know better than the likes of Nicholas Flamel, the great alchemist himself? Your cause to cure lycanthropy will bring you only grief and disappointment—do not presume otherwise. **

** Your suggestion to simplify the brewing process for the Wolfsbane potion may have some merit, a fact that will only come to light with time. I have no desire to take up any of my precious time meeting with you in person until you can prove to me that you can communicate concisely, a concept that you do not seem to grasp based on your rambling interview with the Daily Prophet. You shall convey the research you have completed thus far in a brief manner and after I have read it, I will consider whether or not your little project is worthy of my time. **

** I can also assure you that as far as government wages are concerned, you can take their idea of a generous salary and double it. That should make sufficient pay for my expertise, should I deign to join your ragtag team. **

**Sincerely,**

**Jack Hier**

Well, it was not the worst response she had received to date. He acknowledged that her idea of making the Wolfsbane potion easier and less expensive to brew had merit, even if he called creating a cure for lycanthropy a fools errand. He wouldn't be the only person to think so, so she couldn't complain too heavily. The request for seeing her research was new, however. No one had asked for that before so she would provide it to him. It was the only lead she had thus far.

Her desk and lab were a woeful mess of notes scattered about. She would need to send Terry and Hestia's notes as well. It was going to take an hour or two to get it all together but she would have to do it. It was busy work, really. She simplified her notes on the Rhodiola Rosea and added Terry's calculations on that aspect. She made a copy of Hestia's notes on werewolf physiology and then here eyes fell on her unfinished notes on the powdered horn of bicorn substitutions. She had ruled out the originally predicted substitute of mooncalf hoof shavings already but then her mind went to another idea: shavings from the hooves of a winged horse.

She quickly scrawled down the calculation and tapped her wand against the parchment, holding her breath. The result was complicated: yes, flying horse hoof shavings was the correct ingredient but the breed mattered. That was calculation for later in the day, however. She made a quick copy of the messy notes and rolled up the packet of papers, practically sprinting off to the mail office.

Her haste really wasn't necessary but she was so excited to receive an answer other than a flat out 'no' that she wanted to keep the ball rolling while he was still interested in her work. Esther once again sent the parchment off with Zelda and Hermione returned to her calculations about hoof shavings.

She considered the different breeds of winged horses: Abraxan, Aethonan, Granian, and Thestrals. Abraxan were enormous but their magical properties beyond the ability to fly and their massive size were limited. With the concentrated magical potency of horn of bicorn, she doubted that the breed she needed was Abraxan. She considered the Aethonan breed next. They were very common in England and Ireland as workhorses. They bonded very closely to their owners and were known to be very loyal. Their magical powers were moderate, though. Next on the list were Granian horses. They were very fast and smaller than the other breeds. They were a light-footed variety, known for walking delicately even on the ground. Last was the Thestral, oft seen as a harbinger of death though that was a myth. Their hoof shavings were readily accessible due to the large herd at Hogwarts and they were arguably the most magical breed, given the special magic in them that rendered them invisible to those who had never seen death.

By the time she had finished contemplating the different properties of the breeds, it was time for her to eat lunch. Forgoing the teashop a floor above her, Hermione chose to step out of the hospital and venture down to a nearby sandwich shop. Prêt à Manger was a very popular chain throughout Britain and there had been one very near her parents' dental practice in Oxford so they had all eaten there quite frequently. She grabbed a coronation chicken sandwich, a packet of crisps, and a bottle of water. Though it was tempting to go sit in the nearby park to eat, she made her way back to her office and ate at her desk.

Just as she was tossing her trash in the bin and was about to begin working on her calculations again, Zelda swept in through the open window, landing on Hermione's desk. She could hardly contain her grin as she pulled the letter from the owl's leg.

* * *

Author's Notes: Thank you to my lovely beta, DanB86. I decided on a double post this weekend since these two chapters were not super exciting. I will warn you that next week's chapter may be delayed as I am moving. Hopefully we can get the internet set up fast.


	9. Chapter 9

**Requiem for the Living**

By Jinxd n Cursed

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I merely play in the world of J.K. Rowling; she still owns the characters.

* * *

_Kyrie, eleison.**  
**Christe, eleison.**  
**Kyrie, eleison._

**Chapter Nine**

Severus was not sure why he was so pleased at the quick response from Healer Weasley but he opened the thick packet of parchment as soon as the owl dropped it into his hands. He gave it a quck scan for any tracing spells and found none. That was good. At least she wasn't nosy enough yet to seek out his precise location, though he was sure she knew he—or rather Jack Hier—lived in Wales.

The first piece of parchment was a brief missive explaining that she had included her own notes, those of Hestia Jones on werewolf physiology, and Terry Boot's calculations. Part of him was surprised that she would readily send off all her research to a complete stranger. Then again, she appeared to be completely desperate for a Potions master, so much so that his slight interest in her work had triggered her to send everything she had.

He opened up the notes from Hestia Jones first, wondering if she had anything to say that he didn't already know as a Dark Art's expert. They had been Slytherin together, though Hestia was one year older than he. She had gone on to join the Ministry of Magic, first as a magical law enforcement officer, and then as an Auror after a promotion. Apparently, she was somewhat of an expert in regards to dark creatures.

Most of the information she gave was already stuff he knew. He knew that werewolves transformed for three nights of a twenty-eight day moon cycle, including the days before and after the actual full moon. They could be distinguished from normal wolves by their larger size, the shape of their snout, and the propensity to walk on the hind legs. Sufferers of lycanthropy had shortened lifetimes of those affected by approximately fifteen years, partially due to the effects of transformation but also because werewolves tended to live on the fringes of society in poverty. One only became infected if bitten by a transformed werewolf but only 50% of those bitten survived, usually due to injuries beyond the scope of the bite itself. Werewolves were vulnerable to silver in any form as well as to traumatic injuries, though they healed at an accelerated rate.

He had known all that but what surprised him was the information about werewolf infection. Wizards had always assumed that lycanthropy was some kind of transferable curse as it only affected witches and wizards. It had always been treated as such and the Wolfsbane potion was based on limiting the magic to extend only to physical transformation instead of affecting the brain as well. Hestia, however, theorized that the transformation was not, in fact, a curse but was instead an infection, transmitted from person to person through contact with saliva. She noted some data that involved more muggle science than he understood. There was something about blood cells and DNA. If Hestia was right, then it opened up a whole new way to think about a cure. Rather than making a potion to block a curse, they could work on a cure to a disease.

That, of course, was only possible if she was correct. He would need to see more evidence before he decided.

He moved on to the sheaf of calculations from Terry Boot. The first was a calculation as to whether or not the potion could be simplified (it could). The next several pages were full of calculations as to whether or not specific ingredients could be replaced, and then calculations about the appropriate substitutions. He glanced over those notes before reaching what he really wanted: Hermione's notes about the potion.

She had identified five ingredients they most wanted to replace in the potion: fluxweed, flesh eating slug mucus, enchanted belladonna extract, Griffin feather, powdered horn of bicorn, and thunder god vine. That was logical; they were the five ingredients that were both highly expensive and highly volatile. It wouldn't be easy but given that he'd already figured out how to replace two ingredients, he knew it was possible.

Turning to the next page, he almost choked: Hermione had figured out the Rhodiola Rosea substitution, including the exact proportion, temperature change, brewing time, and its effect on the quantity of the Saint John's Wort. While he knew she was intelligent, he would not have imagine the perpetual textbook memorizer to be capable of the creativity needed to do ingredient substitution.

The next page was more shocking, not just because of its content but because of its departure from her normal neat, orderly handwriting. The notes were scrawled across the parchment on a slant and the hastily scribbled arithmancy equation was barely legible. It showed something he wasn't entirely sure he would have thought of: the hoof shavings of a winged horse could be substituted for the powdered horn of bicorn.

It must have been her latest discovery because it was not complete. Her equation indicated that while the substitution worked, there was a missing factor. A second calculation showed that factor as the breed of the winged horse. Animal husbandry had never been his strong suit and his knowledge of the different types of winged horses was minimal. He would need to do his research before determining which breed was required.

It was that moment that he had to stop himself. He was acting like this was _his _potion's project. The reality was that it was not his project, the project was that of Hermione Weasley. He, Severus Snape, was not on the team. Neither was Jack Hier, his alter ego. It was almost disappointing. This was a shockingly interesting project for him and part of him wanted to continue to work on it. Money from such a pursuit would be nice, yes, but it was more intellectually stimulating than anything else.

He mentally flirted with the idea of participating in the research as Jack Hier. He could either correspond with Hermione via owl or if need be, polyjuice himself into a muggle in order to participate in person. Then Jack Hier would need to fall of the face of the planet and his calm, private life would be over because he would have to move from the stone cottage in Wales to a location unknown. Was this academic curiosity worth it? He didn't think so. But it wouldn't help to correspond with Healer Weasley, perhaps pass on the tip about the Hippogriff feathers as a professional curiosity. At least until she located an actual potions expert. Before he passed on that information, though, perhaps he ought to see if her mind was really set to the task at hand. He sat down at his desk to pen a response.

**Dear Healer Weasley,**

** The notes you sent to me are mediocre at best. Most of the notes by Ms. Jones could be provided by any third year Hogwarts student from his or her Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum. Surely someone who has supposedly studied healing enough to be a certified Healer would know the characteristics of werewolves and how lycanthropy affects a person. The only original piece of information is the theory that lycanthropy is a disease rather than a curse. I require more information in order to make a judgment as to whether her idea holds water. I expect a detailed report as to how these conclusions were drawn and how to test the theory. **

** While the Arithmancy calculations were undoubtedly useful to you, the variety of factors and difficulty certainly does not require a master to achieve. Surely any person with a NEWT in Arithmancy could replace the work of Terry Boot. Perhaps you ought to send him on to a project that actually requires Arithmancy since you seem to do most of your ingredient calculations on your own. **

** It is perfectly clear in your potions work that you are not a master. You have had study in subject, yes, but you are not a master. It is a good thing you are seeking one because if you ever wish to go beyond ingredient substitutions into curing lycanthropy, you will most definitely need one. You have successfully replaced one ingredient of the potion and judged how it will affect other ingredients. Congratulations. You have lowered the cost of the potion by two galleons. I'm sure the families that cannot afford the potion now will feel so much better that the price has dropped from impossibly beyond their financial reach to well beyond their financial reach. **

** Your substitution of winged horse hoof shavings for powdered horn of bicorn may have merit but obviously requires more research. Am I to assume by the illegible state of your calculations on the subject that it is something you are still working on? You have identified six key ingredients to simplifying the brewing process and making the potion less expensive. I agree that these are the most important ingredients to replace. You have replaced one and are working on another. Do you have a plan for identifying substitutions for the other four ingredients on that list? Perhaps they are beyond the depth of your training. **

** I await your speedy reply. **

**Sincerely,  
Jack Hier**

He attached the missive to the large barn owl's talon and watched as the owl flew off into the sky. His feelings regarding his communications with Hermione Weasley were mixed at best. Though a brilliant witch doing far beyond what he would have assumed she was capable of, she was a remnant of the past. She was a former student of Severus Snape, a man who had died almost ten years ago, as far as the world was concerned. As he sat in one of the arm chairs in his living room, his mind traveled back to the day he died.

_It hadn't surprised him that Voldemort decided it was time to kill him, only that it had taken so long for him to do it. Whether for his involvement in defeating Dumbledore or Voldemort discovering his true loyalties or even for breathing too loudly during one of his rants, Severus Snape had expected to be killed at some point. His only hope had been that it wouldn't be a simple 'Avada Kedavra' that took him out. He had always doubted that would happen given Voldemort's flair for the dramatic but it was always a possibility. _

_ The fact that Voldemort had chosen Nagini as his weapon of choice was a happy discovery. Somewhat afraid of the snake as it was (how ironic for the head of Slytherin house), he had begun taking anti-venom in small doses ever since he had returned to the circle of Death Eaters. It would protect against the poison of the snake long enough for him to take a full dose combined with blood replenishing potion. _

_ That Potter and his friends had been hiding under that infernal clock so close by was a fortunate stroke of luck for him. He was able to pass off the potion before passing out from the pain and venom coursing through his veins. He might have died before he ever had a chance to take the potions that would save his life but he woke as he heard their retreating steps across the dusty wooden floor. He reached into the pocket of his robes and took out the flask of healing potion. He barely choked it down before passing out again. Downstairs was a bottle of dittany that would close the gaping wound on his neck but it was woefully out of reach to him. If he didn't want to bleed out a second time, however, he needed to get to it. _

_ Without strength to stand, he half crawled, half dragged himself across the floor. His blood soaked robes left a trail across the ground but he didn't care. He had to get to the potion. The stairs were almost the end of it. It took all his strength to make it down the stairs and to the spot under the floor boards in the front hall where he had hidden the dittany and additional blood replenishing potion. He poured the dittany onto the wound on his neck, screaming as the potion burned and healed. He took another dose of blood replenishing potion before his strength failed and all faded to black. _

_ "Severus Snape!" a sharp female voice said to him. _

_ He opened his eyes to see a pair of rectangular spectacles a few inches from his face. Minerva McGonagal. Apparently, he had saved his life only to die at the hand of the irate Assistant Headmistress. If only she knew all he had done to try to protect her and the students and the Order... _

_ "Severus Snape, I do not know whether to hex you or kiss you," she said. "You awful, secretive, underhanded, wonderful man!" _

_ He blinked, unable to produce words. This was not the reaction he was expecting. _

_ "I know," she told him. "I know the truth now. That damnable wizard Albus Dumbledore left me a memory to find, stashed away in my office, magically keyed to appear when you fled the school to Voldemort's side. I know what you did and why you did it and I thank you for it." _

_ "What—I—" he tried to speak through an impossibly rough throat. _

_ "Don't speak, Severus Snape," she said. "I will take you to Hogwarts and you will be known as the hero you are. Voldemort is gone." _

_ "No," he croaked. "No one can know." _

_ She didn't fight him. He supposed she understood why. Both of them knew that he would never be a hero. He had killed Albus Dumbledore. It didn't matter the reasons, he had done it. _

_ "Then I will hide you," she said, kneeling on the floor and pulling him to his feet to wrap her arms around him. He felt the empty bottle of his potion fall to the ground and break. He barely had time to notice, though. With the crack of apparation, they were gone._

Minerva McGonagal was the only person o the planet who knew that Severus Snape was alive. She had brought him to her cottage in northern Scotland where she cared for him as he healed. He was left alone most of the time as she dealt with the aftermath of the battle and her new duties as headmistress. He had spent some of it reading but mostly he slept, he slept and he mourned and he thought about what life he would lead. He just wasn't sure. This was the first time he would be living out from under the thumb of a master. It was his own life. Minerva had made sure everyone thought he was dead even without a body to find. She had spread a rumor that escaping Death Eaters had stolen his corpse in order to desecrate it.

After about two months of living in McGonagal's guest room, she told him she had figured out where to send him indefinitely. The Order maintained a number of safe houses throughout Europe and one in America. There most recent acquisition was in Wales and had only been known by herself and the Lupins. Because of its isolated location and the warded cellar, it was viewed as an ideal safe house for Remus and Tonk if things were to go South. Apparently, they liked the location so much, they had discussed living at the property when the war was finally over.

He was surprised at how deeply the death of his once-enemy affected him. Over time, he had realized that it wasn't Lupin that had truly endangered him; it had been Black who was responsible for that. Though in most ways he had made his peace with Lupin, Snape had never told the other man that he no longer blamed him. Another regret to add to the list.

Minerva had brought him to the stone cottage in Wales. It was in Brecon Beacons national park, set far away from the trails. It was unplottable and surrounded by anti-apparation wards but for the sake of actually being able to locate it when he left to go to the village, it was not invisible though there were wards to alert him if anyone intending harm to him. He felt secure in this place.

It was strange even to his own mind that he was willing to risk that security in order to communicate with Hermione Weasley. She wasn't the first person he would pick to exchange letters with but for reasons still unknown to him, he could not imagine ceasing the contact.

* * *

Thanks to the lovely DanB86 for her beta work. I also apologize for this chapter being a day late. It was a little busy between moving and having a bridal shower (my own. I get married next month!)


	10. Chapter 10

**Requiem for the Living**

By Jinxd n Cursed

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I merely play in the world of J.K. Rowling; she still owns the characters.

* * *

_Kyrie, eleison.  
Christe, eleison.  
Kyrie, eleison. _

**Chapter Ten**

Hermione opened the letter from Jack Hier as soon as she had fed Zelda a few owl treats and had a chance to visit the toilet. Taking a seat at her desk, she broke the seal and began to read.

**Dear Healer Weasley,**

** The notes you sent to me are mediocre at best. Most of the notes by Ms. Jones could be provided by any third year Hogwarts student from his or her Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum. Surely someone who has supposedly studied healing enough to be a certified Healer would know the characteristics of werewolves and how lycanthropy affects a person. The only original piece of information is the theory that lycanthropy is a disease rather than a curse. I require more information in order to make a judgment as to whether her idea holds water. I expect a detailed report as to how these conclusions were drawn and how to test the theory. **

** While the Arithmancy calculations were undoubtedly useful to you, the variety of factors and difficulty certainly does not require a master to achieve. Surely any person with a NEWT in Arithmancy could replace the work of Terry Boot. Perhaps you ought to send him on to a project that actually requires Arithmancy since you seem to do most of your ingredient calculations on your own. **

** It is perfectly clear in your potions work that you are not a master. You have had study in subject, yes, but you are not a master. It is a good thing you are seeking one because if you ever wish to go beyond ingredient substitutions into curing lycanthropy, you will most definitely need one. You have successfully replaced one ingredient of the potion and judged how it will affect other ingredients. Congratulations. You have lowered the cost of the potion by two galleons. I'm sure the families who cannot afford the potion now will feel so much better that the price has dropped from impossibly beyond their financial reach to well beyond their financial reach. **

** Your substitution of winged horse hoof shavings for powdered horn of bicorn may have merit but obviously requires more research. Am I to assume by the illegible state of your calculations on the subject that it is something you are still working on? You have identified six key ingredients to simplify the brewing process and making the potion less expensive. I agree that these are the most important ingredients to replace. You have replaced one and are working on another. Do you have a plan for identifying substitutions for the other three ingredients on that list? Perhaps they are beyond the depth of your training. **

** I await your speedy reply. **

**Sincerely,  
Jack Hier**

Something about the letter bothered her. It wasn't the content—he had a right to be curious and question the methodology of their work—but rather the tone of the letter and even the writing itself. The letters were narrow and spiky and something in the back of her mind told her she had seen this before. The tone of the letter itself reminded her of someone, though she couldn't remember whom. Granted, she had dealt with a pernickety Potions master since she was eleven and had found that Potions masters as a whole had more in common with Severus Snape than Horace Slughorn. Her master at Oxford, Madame Ingrid Sloane, had made Severus Snape seem like a kitten in comparison. Jack Hier seemed to have a typical attitude for a Potions master.

With a sigh, she set the letter aside to reply after she had run the calculations on the breed of winged horse required to replace the Griffin feathers with hoof shavings. She was writing out the equation for Abraxan horses when a hand snatched the parchment away.

"Hermione," Terry Boot told her, "How many times do I need to remind you that I am responsible for all arithmanthetical calculations for the team?"

Hermione looked up at him. "Well... You and I both know I am capable of doing this myself."

"Hermione, I can do in a single calculation what it takes you five equations to do," he said, crumpling her half written parchment and tossing it in the trash. He extended a hand. "Give me your factors."

She huffed and scribbled down the list quickly and handed it to him. He smiled and went to his own desk.

"You're very welcome Hermione," he said.

"Do shut up," she replied, irritably.

"Touchy today. Another rejection letter?" he asked.

"Not exactly," she said. "This one has actually been communicating with me."

"Really? That's a change," he said. "What has he said?"

"He has been asking about our research thus far. I sent him our notes," she told him.

"Is that wise? He isn't a team member," Terry replied.

"What choice did I have? He is the first person to even express interest in our project. Most call me an idiot if they reply at all," she told him.

"True," he said. "Who am I to criticize anyway? You're the team leader."

"Oh come now Terry," she said. "You know I've never abused my power."

He nodded. "Who is this bloke, anyway? Anyone I would know?"

"A brewer by the name of Jack Hier," she informed him.

"Never heard of him," Terry replied.

"He brews medicinal potions for St. Mungo's. Mostly the basics but some advanced fertility potions among other things," she told him.

"Is he a master?" he questioned.

"If he is, he didn't do his apprenticeship in Europe. I didn't see his name on any registry," she told him.

"Not ideal but better than nothing," Terry said.

"Exactly," she said. "I want to figure this one out before I send my next reply. Maybe he'll think our work is actually possible."

"Hermione, clearly this work is worthwhile. You've figured one substitution out and soon you will have another one," he said.

"I hope so," she told him.

"Ten minutes and you will have the breed, quantity, stirring pattern, quantity of stirs, and whether it affects any other ingredients," Terry replied. "Now tell me that isn't better than the time it would have taken you."

"You aren't wrong," Hermione admitted, grudgingly.

"Indeed," he said, somewhat absently as he was absorbed into his work.

Hermione turned to Jack Hier's letter again and read it over. The first order of business was to request a draft of the detailed report Hestia had been working on. It required an impressive amount of Muggle scientific theory that Hermione doubted she could have realized herself. She was much more capable of recognizing that other people occasionally knew more about a subject than herself at the age of twenty-eight than she had at thirteen. She had taken a few Muggle science courses at Oxford, but Hestia had almost completed her degree in biology. Hermione occasionally had to ask for her assistance in understanding a report. It was an exercise in humility for her. She knew Hestia was working on a detailed analysis of her theories but she hadn't seen it yet. That analysis was the reason Hestia was in the lab at Oxford rather than in London.

Hermione penned a quick note, asking for a copy of what she had so far. She debated whether or not to say why, but in the end chose full disclosure, telling her co-worker that a potential Potions master had requested the information. Hermione dashed up to the mailroom and it was sent off quickly.

Terry had moved on to a second sheet of parchment. While she was curious, she chose to let him work and move on to the next piece on his list of demands: a plan for replacing the other four ingredients: Griffin feathers, Thunder God Vine, Flesh Eating Slug mucus, and enchanted Belladonna extract.

As she had learned in her university studies, ingredient substitutions generally required like for like. Plant ingredients had to be exchanged for other plant ingredients, animal for animal, and enchanted for enchanted. Enchanted ingredients were by far the most difficult to find substitutes for, which is why her greatest concern was for replacing the enchanted Belladonna extract.

The amount of extract required was tiny, but it was the single most expensive ingredient in the Wolfsbane potion due to its rarity. Belladonna was poisonous in all but the smallest quantities but was a valuable ingredient in many potent healing potions. Finding an acceptable substitute would require a Herbology expert and possibly a Charms expert to be able to identify and recreate the necessary charms.

Thunder God Vine originated from ancient Chinese medicine. It was a powerful anti-inflammatory but more than that, it also had a calming affect on the immune system that regulated its activity enough to keep the it from attacking healthy cells. It would need to be replaced with an equally potent herb. On the short list for that one was sarsaparilla, yucca, and chlorella. Green tea was another possibility but she didn't think it was the most likely. She needed to do more research before she began running calculations on the substitution.

She suspected that the Griffin feathers would need to be replaced by those of a magical bird. Perhaps an Augery or a cockatrice or even a fwooper. That would require a lot of research as well. Feathers were notoriously difficult to replace in a potion. Or... hmm... maybe Hippogriff feathers could work. She had heard a rumour that it could be used as a substitute.

Last was the Flesh Eating Slug mucus. She wasn't sure she had a clue on that one but she certainly couldn't pass that on to Mr. Hier. She scribbled down leeches, garden slug mucus, and flobberworms as possibilities. Maybe she would even look into it down the road if no other options presented themselves.

"You're brilliant," Terry said. "Really, really, really brilliant."

"What have I done now?" Hermione asked.

"You've successfully substituted Thestral hoof shavings for powder horn of bicorn, jobberknoll feathers, AND the kava," Terry said, placing the parchments in front of her. There were three of them, which was somewhat unusual for her very efficient colleague.

"Really?" she said. "That is excellent."

"Indeed. I had to run two extra calculations to determine the effects on the other ingredients. It's not a one to one replacement so it changed things at three different stages of brewing," he told her. "Take a look."

Hermione looked over the parchments and broke into a grin. The potion required two ounces of hoof shavings, which took the place of the powdered horn of bicorn, jobberknoll feathers, and kava. It eliminated two sets of seventy stirs and reduced the third set from two hundred down to seventy three. It changed the pattern from clockwise to figure eight and required a rosewood stirring-rod in lieu of tempered glass but it was the single biggest improvement they had made to the potion thus far.

"Thank you Terry," she told him. "It took you half an hour to do what would have taken me three days."

"Which is exactly why you should be giving me all your calculations," he reminded her once again.

"Thank you," she said. "And in the future I'll make you do all the work."

"I expect nothing less," he replied. "If it's all the same for you, I am going to slip out now since it is four thirty and I am taking Penelope out for dinner."

"That's fine," Hermione replied. "I'll be staying a little late so I can get this letter out, then I'm going to pick up the kids from Molly."

"Have a good evening, then," Terry replied.

"Give Penelope my best. How is her project with the charms department coming?" she asked.

"Splendidly," he told her. "I'll make sure she knows you asked."

Hermione nodded. "See you tomorrow," she told him.

"Goodbye," he said.

Hermione received a reply from Hestia a few minutes later, saying that she could have a preliminary report the next day. She was very excited about her findings thus far, apparently. Without that, Hermione wrote a letter to Mr. Hier with the information she had on the Thestral hoof shavings, and her points of research for the other four ingredients. She informed him that she would send along her colleague's findings as soon as she had them.

As she got ready to leave for the day, she was quite pleased with how the day had gone: two letters from Jack Hier and a major breakthrough. She would allow Molly to feed her dinner and then she would hopefully have a good night's rest before doing it all over again the next day.

* * *

I apologize for the lateness of this chapter. I will warn you that all chapters prior to November 15th are liable to be late as I have stuff every weekend from now until then. I will *try* to post on Fridays but I can't guarantee. I get married in 27 days! AHHHH!


	11. Chapter 11

**Requiem for the Living**

By Jinxd n Cursed

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I merely play in the world of J.K. Rowling; she still owns the characters.

* * *

_Kyrie, eleison.  
Christe, eleison.  
Kyrie, eleison. _

**Chapter Eleven**

The next letter from Hermione Weasley came as he was preparing his dinner. Though he was infinitely curious, the letter would wait until after supper was over. His meal was almost done and would produce superb leftovers for lunch the next day: cheesy ham and leeks with an onion cake. He had picked up a good loaf of bread and a few bottles of ginger beer whilst he was in town. He had just finished setting the table when he heard a knock on the door. Taking up his wand, he walked slowly to the door, not making a sound.

Another knock sounded, this one accompanied by a voice. "Open the door Severus!"

Wand still in hand, he opened the door to see an impatient Minerva McGonagal waiting for him.

"I wasn't expecting to see you until tomorrow evening," he said, finally lowering his wand.

"Yes, yes, yes," she said irritably, stepping into the house. "I had a meeting at the Ministry this evening and after that frustration, I decided to pay you a visit. I hope you've made enough for two."

"As always," he said, following her into the kitchen. He took another place setting from the cupboard and set it across from his own place at the table. "Would you prefer ginger beer, wine, or something stronger?"

"Something stronger," she said. "Do you have any scotch?"

He nodded and took the bottle from the cabinet closest to the table. He poured two fingers into a glass.

"You'll have to do better than that," she said.

He poured another finger before returning the bottle to the cabinet. He then added two whiskey rocks from the cold storage cabinet. "Does that suit better?"

"That will do for now," she said. "What's for dinner? Please tell me it isn't cottage pie. They serve it at Hogwarts once a week now and I am sick of it."

"Cheesy ham and leeks and onion pie," he informed her. "I was planning to go into the village to the pastry shop this evening for a chocolate torte. Perhaps you will join me?"

"Only if we can go to the pub as well," she told him.

"What happened at this meeting that has driven you to consume mass quantities of alcohol?" he inquired, checking on the food in the oven. The ham and leeks were perfectly bubbly but the pie needed a few more minutes. He carefully levitated the main dish from the oven.

"The Ministry is trying to take over Hogwarts," she said. "Wants to poke their noses into our curriculum and have a say on who we hire. You know, the same things they've been trying to do for years that they never could get away with when Albus was in charge."

"So the usual frustrations then," he said. "Which curriculum are they attacking this time?"

"Which do you think?" she asked.

"Potions, if it's anything like usual," he replied.

"Of course. They wish to eliminate first and second year Potions for music and art class. Art class! At Hogwarts!" she told him, throwing up her hands.

"And what is the justification this time?" he queried.

"The same as usual: Durmstrang and Beauxbatons don't start potions until third year, letting eleven and twelve-year-olds mess with boiling cauldrons and flames isn't very safe, the usual load of rubbish. Never mind that our safety record is better than either of those schools," she told him. She completed her statement by taking a long pull from her scotch.

"Lovely," he said. "Are you still employing both Wendell Bruckhorst and Horace Slughorn?"

"Yes," she replied. "Wendell is almost done his mastery and then Horace can officially retire. Really, Wendell is doing all the work at this point. Horace just enjoys the salary, warm quarters, and proximity to Hogsmeade."

Severus snorted. "I believe that was always his desire."

"You are not wrong," she told him. "I suspect the only reason it wasn't worse when you were teaching is because Lucius liked you so much. He kept the rest of the idiots in the Board of Governors at bay."

"He asked me regularly what I wanted in regards to policies at Hogwarts," Severus replied mildly. "One of the only good things born out of my time with Voldemort."

Minerva mumbled something completely unintelligible but Severus chose to ignore her in favour of checking on the onion cake. It was done so he pulled it out of the oven and carefully turned it over onto a plate. That done, he brought both dishes to the table along with the bread and a crock of butter.

Minerva had never been a shy dinner guest. She served up large portions of both dishes and cut off a thick piece of bread, spreading it with butter. He served himself and then began tucking in. Both of the dishes were ones he had picked up during the last ten years in Wales and after ordering them in the pubs a few times, he learned to make his own. He'd learned a lot about cooking in the last few years, having to take care of himself rather than letting the house elves do it for him. It wasn't that he didn't know how before, it was just that he hadn't really had occasion to do so beyond the rare weekend trip to Spinner's End where he would subsist primarily on eggs and toast with the odd addition of sausages.

"This is good, Severus," Minerva said. "I love onion cake."

"As do I, which is why I prepared it this evening," Severus said.

"What have you been up to in the last few weeks?" she asked.

"I continue to brew on a contract with St. Mungo's," he said. "Recently, I've been corresponding with a representative from their research department."

She looked up sharply. "You've been writing to Hermione Weasley?"

"I did not say that name," he replied mildly.

"You didn't need to!" she said. "I know all about Hermione's project. They've been looking for a Potions master."

"Healer Weasley has made me aware of this herself," he informed her. "She must be quite desperate as she has shared a good deal of information with me. Or rather, with Jack Hier."

"She is indeed. The work she has showed me is quite advanced and while she has done good work on her own, they need a potions expert," she told him. She eyed him levelly. "I don't suppose this is a project you would like to take on?"

"While I have been considering some of her work, I'm afraid it will not tempt me to give up my quiet life here. I doubt Wizarding Britain would be kind if they knew I was alive," he told her.

"You were exonerated posthumously," she reminded him. "You cannot serve any time in prison."

"Be that as it may, I doubt society will ever forgive me for Dumbledore's death." He pushed his plate away, suddenly no longer hungry for any of it.

"More importantly than that, Severus, have you forgiven yourself?" She leveled him with an intense stare.

He sighed. "Minerva, I have been responsible for the deaths of my two greatest friends. I have forgiven myself for Lily's death but to have done it a second time? Well, even a man as cold as I is affected by that."

"Codswallop," Minerva pronounced. "You are far from cold and I know better than to assume that you ever forgave yourself for the death of Lily. What's more, Lily was _not_ your best friend. While she was a nice girl by most accounts, she was vain and held onto a grudge like no one I have ever known before. You made one mistake and then she refused to resume your friendship."

"And what of Dumbledore?" he asked.

Minerva shook her head. "That man always had 'the greater good' at heart. You were a pawn in his hands. He cared about you, of that I am sure, but not so much that he would sacrifice his plans to save your soul. He had you kill him because doing so fulfilled his needs, not yours."

"What other option was there?" Severus asked.

"To let the Malfoy boy kill him? To force Tom to do it himself? To die of natural causes? There are any number of options he could have taken but solidifying you in Voldemort's inner circle served his purpose the best."

"Again I ask, what other options were there if we wanted to win the war? He predicted Voldemort would give Hogwarts to me and I would be able to protect the students and staff," Severus argued.

"If he had not forced you to proclaim loyalty to Voldemort through his death and had instead let Mr. Malfoy kill him, he would have preserved your position in the Order and as a spy. I would have become Headmistress and both of us would have protected the students here and assisted Potter in his quest. He cared more for Draco Malfoy than he did for you, his own spy, colleague, and friend." Minerva was now standing. "There are a thousand ways it could have gone, Severus, but there was only one way he wanted it to go so you were the sacrificial lamb."

He had no reply to that. Part of him knew that she was correct: Dumbledore was the chess master and used all his pieces however he thought best, whether they liked it or not. "I cannot argue against that."

Minerva gave his shoulder a maternal pat. "I want you to stop blaming yourself for things that were beyond your control. The past is passed and I am far more concerned with your future happiness than your past sins."

"I'm afraid I will never escape those," he said somewhat morosely. "They are far too numerous."

"Balderdash," Minerva said. "Have you heard nothing I said? You have been forced to commit atrocities for people other than yourself in the name of the greater good. You grew up in a loveless home and saw more horrible things before you were eleven than I saw in the first war. No one can blame you for that." She smiled thinly. "The only person still blaming you is you."

She started at him for a long moment, her eyes boring into his. He turned away when he couldn't take it anymore. This evening was supposed to be peaceful, not dredged up in horrors from the past. He stood and began taking the plates over to the counter.

"Now," Minerva said brightly, "Let's get this cleaned up. I believe you promised me a walk and some chocolate torte."

The chocolate torte they got in the nearby village was delicious and after returning to the cottage, Severus gave Minerva a large portion of his recent wages from St. Mungos to exchange for Muggle currency. When she left, he finally turned to the letter from Healer Weasley.

_Dear Mr. Hier,_

_ Thank you for your prompt response to my latest correspondence. My colleagues and I have been steadily working to get answers to your questions and many more but we are still in the preliminary stage of research. I have been corresponding with Hestia Jones in an effort to secure more information on her theory that lycanthropy is a pathogen rather than a curse as previously assumed. She will have a preliminary report tomorrow, which I shall forward to you upon receipt. _

_ Mr. Boot's work as an Arithmancy master has been invaluable to our success. Just today, he was able to analyze the breed of winged horse hoof shaving needed as well as the quantity, stirring patterns, number of stirs, and its effect on other ingredients. I have enclosed the specific calculations but I shall summarize them here: two ounces of Thestral hoof shavings are required, and those shavings replace not only the powdered horn of bicorn, but also the jobberknoll feathers and the kava. It eliminates both stirring sequences following the additions of the feathers and kava and instead requires seventy-three stirs in a figure eight pattern with a rosewood stirring implement. My colleague was able to determine all of this utilizing three equations in the span of half an hour, a task that would have taken a lesser expert more than a day. _

_ As for our next steps in ingredient substitution, I have compiled a few potential replacements for all but the enchanted Belladonna. That will require more research, as enchanted ingredients are notoriously difficult to replace. Here is the short list of ingredients we intend to research: _

_Griffin feathers- Augery, cockatrice, fwooper, or Hippogriff feathers_

_Thunder God Vine- sarsaparilla, yucca, chlorella, and green tea_

_Flesh Eating Slug mucus- garden slug mucus, leeches, and flobberworms_

_ These substitutions will require more research and likely many calculations from my team members. We are hoping that we will gain a Potions master for our team soon, as that expertise will surely streamline the process. I do hope you are still considering the idea of joining our team. I would be interested to hear your opinions on which, if any, of the previously mentioned ingredients could work as viable substitutes. _

_Best Regards,  
Hermione Weasley_

So, she wasn't entirely unintelligent. The enchanted Belladonna would be extremely difficult to replace in the potion, as both the ingredient and the incantation for the charm would need to be appropriate. He could not think of a single ingredient off the top of his head.

He had already determined the appropriate substitute for Griffin feathers. Perhaps he would throw her a bone and share that tidbit of information. Then again, perhaps not. He was not as familiar with Thunder God Vine as it originated from Chinese medicine, but if its primary role was to calm the immune system, then the presented options were viable. Lastly, her idea of garden slug mucus, leeches, or flobberworms to replace the Flesh Eating Slug mucus also had potential. He sat down at his desk to pen a reply.

_**Dear Healer Weasley,**_

_** Congratulations on determining an appropriate substitute for the powdered horn of bicorn. Perhaps you are not quite the dunderhead I first assumed. I wish to see the report from Ms. Jones as soon as you read it. **_

_** It appears you are finally utilizing your colleagues' talents to their full potential rather than doing inferior work for yourself. No doubt you will be further utilizing his talents for your calculations on the other ingredients you propose to replace. I would suggest first looking at Hippogriff feathers as a replacement for the Griffin feathers. I believe the correct amount is five feathers. I find they usually require anti-clockwise stirring.**_

_** It is somewhat pitiable that you cannot think of a replacement for the enchanted Belladonna. That is the single most expensive ingredient in the Wolfsbane potion and if you cannot find a replacement for it, you will never be able to make the potion affordable to the greater population. I am sure you have considered this. What is your research plan for this particular ingredient? Do you have an expert on Herbology and Charms at your disposal or are you going to attempt to figure it out on your own? **_

_**I await your speedy reply,**_

_**Jack Hier**_

He sent his reply off with the owl that continued to wait in the tree outside the kitchen window. Though it was not exceptionally late yet, he found himself oddly exhausted. He made his round about the house, making sure the doors and windows were locked. With a wave of his wand, the candles were snuffed and his light spell was dimmed. He made his way down to his bedroom, changing into his night shirt and climbing into bed. With a whispered "nox," all light was gone.

It took him a while to fall asleep, his mind reeling at his earlier conversation with Minerva. Perhaps she was right about some things. Perhaps it was time to forgive himself for the role he had been forced to play. The last thought he had before falling asleep, though, was not about his conversation with Minerva. Rather, it was about Hermione Weasley and his hope that she did not find a Potions master any time soon.

* * *

So I am posting this on a Friday because I am thinking ahead about the fact that I will be busy tomorrow. I get married in three weeks! Ahh! In other news, I am recovering from bronchitis that struck suddenly and fiercely and put me out of work for a day and a half. Fortunately, the doctor gave me half the pharmacy so I am feeling better and dug out some writing time when I wasn't busy sleeping and watching netflix.

And because I'm a terrible tease, a preview from chapter twelve:

_ And that was when her heart stopped._

_Her eyes stuck to the word "dunderheaded" in the very first paragraph and she knew exactly whose handwriting she had been looking at: Severus Snape. _


	12. Chapter 12

**Requiem for the Living**

By Jinxd n Cursed

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I merely play in the world of J.K. Rowling; she still owns the characters.

* * *

_Kyrie, eleison.  
Christe, eleison.  
Kyrie, eleison. _

**Chapter Twelve**

Hermione made it in to work early the next morning for a meeting with the hospital president, Laura Burbage. The older woman wanted to hear about her research, their progress, and estimated dates for completion. She seemed pleased with the progress so far but as usual, was not happy that there was no predicted completion date. Those outside of research generally had a difficult time grasping the idea that certain timelines simply could not be predicted. There was no way to guess when she would locate an acceptable substitute for each of the ingredients, much less when they would actually be able to create a cure for lycanthropy.

Laura Burbage was a career Healer on the spell damage floor and was familiar with the processes needed for charms and transfiguration development for reversing the damages of spells. What she was not familiar with beyond her original Healer training was potions development. It was not the most popular field to go into, but Hermione loved it. In many ways, it was like a large logic puzzle, trying to find a different piece to fit in the same place. The best part was when it took the place of more than one piece. Unfortunately, finding the best fit often took a long time. Perhaps it would go a little faster if they could actually manage to find a Potions master. That was neither here nor there at that point however, as no candidates were presenting themselves. Hopefully Jack Hier would choose to commit.

Arriving at her desk once the meeting was over, she opened the letter from Jack Hier and began to read.

_**Dear Healer Weasley,**_

_** Congratulations on determining an appropriate substitute for the powdered horn of Bicorn. Perhaps you are not quite the dunderhead I first assumed. I wish to see the report from Ms. Jones as soon as you read it. **_

_** It appears you are finally utilizing your colleagues' talents to their full potential rather than doing inferior work for yourself. No doubt you will be further utilizing his talents for your calculations on the other ingredients you propose to replace. I would suggest first looking at Hippogriff feathers as a replacement for the Griffin feathers. I believe the correct amount is five feathers. I find they usually require anti-clockwise stirring.**_

_** It is somewhat pitiable that you cannot think of a replacement for the enchanted Belladonna. That is the single most expensive ingredient in the Wolfsbane potion and if you cannot find a replacement for it, you will never be able to make the potion affordable to the greater population. I am sure you have considered this. What is your research plan for this particular ingredient? Do you have an expert on Herbology and Charms at your disposal or are you going to attempt to figure it out on your own? **_

_**I await your speedy reply,**_

_**Jack Hier**_

She reveled in his congratulations on her work for a moment. Even at the age of twenty-eight, she still responded to people complimenting her work like she had at the age of eleven. Then she read his critique and requests again. He had a point about the replacement for enchanted Belladonna being the most important in terms of lowering the cost. She also suspected that he had actually completed the calculations to determine to substitution of Hippogriff feathers but she would need to verify. She decided to read the letter again before starting a reply.

And that was when her heart stopped.

Her eyes stuck to the word "dunderhead" in the very first paragraph and she knew exactly whose handwriting she had been looking at: Severus Snape.

Though Hermione had always known he was alive, to have a letter from him in her hands was almost like talking to a ghost. For all intents and purposes, Severus Snape was dead. There was even an empty grave beside Dumbledore's tomb. She had set fire to the Shrieking Shack so that no one else would find the clues that he was alive. Magical law enforcement had assumed arson was the cause but Hermione knew better, not that she would ever confess. She considered purchasing the property to be her act of remorse.

That she had been conversing with Severus Snape explained much. It explained the snarky tone and the insults and the obvious expertise. No wonder she had never found Jack Hier on the registry of British Potions masters; he wasn't even a real person!

She needed to think long and hard about how to proceed with this information. Obviously, she wasn't going to just write him a letter telling him she knew who he was. Technically, she couldn't be 100% sure without going to see him.

Going to see him...

It was a stupid idea, really. Extremely stupid, but the infinitely curious part of her needed to confirm the evidence. She HAD to see him and know that it was really Severus Snape she had been writing to. It was Friday and the children were spending the weekend with Molly and Arthur along with the rest of the grandchildren, so it wasn't like she had to care for them that weekend. She had plans with Ginny to go shopping at Gladrags and Madam Malkin's since both of them needed new robes but that was in the morning.

The first step in carrying out such a plan to verify that he was alive was to discover where he lived. She needed to compose another letter to him and place a tracking spell on the parchment that would alert her as to his location. Ron had taught her how to make the spell untraceable when he was in Auror training so at least he would not realize she was after his location.

Unfortunately, she did not have a good idea of what to write just yet. With a big sigh, she turned back to his letter and decided to verify the information he had passed on. She wrote down the factors to check and handed them off to Terry who had quietly been working on his general calculations about a cure for lycanthropy. Within a few minutes, he handed it back to her, confirming exactly what had been sent in the letter. She began to write.

_Dear Mr. Hier, _

_ Thank you for your congratulations on our latest discovery. We are very excited that we have been successful in our attempts thus far. There is still a long way to go as you have so kindly pointed out to me. I have enclosed the preliminary report from Ms. Jones for your reading pleasure and informational purposes. It is quite enlightening and I find myself coming around to Ms. Jone's way of thinking on how lycanthropy is transmitted. _

_ As I am sure you are aware, enchanted ingredients are notoriously difficult to create and to replace in a potion. I have a number of Herbology experts I can consult when the need arises, including Pomona Sprout and Neville Longbottom, her successor at Hogwarts. _

_ The first step would be to find a plant ingredient that has the same properties as Belladonna prior to enchantment. Belladonna is a pain reliever, muscle relaxant, and anti-inflammatory. These effects are caused by the presence of atropine, which raises the heart rate, dilates pupils, and reduces secretions. The reduction of secretions is the most desired effect of the Belladonna. Somewhat counter-intuitively, the enchantments applied to the plant prior to extraction actually amplify the anti-inflammatory characteristics at the expense of the ability to limit secretions. Therefore, it stands to reason that the replacement ingredient must have anti-inflammatory properties. A few suggested ingredients are ginger, cinnamon, garlic, cayenne, boswellia, and yarrow. It has also been suggested that adding the proper enchantments to the turmeric that is already present in the potion could have the desired effect. I am doubtful of this hypothesis but it is possible._

_ The next step is to consider the enchantments themselves. Enchantments can be applied at several different phases: to the seeds prior to growth, to the growing plant, to the harvested plant, and to the extract itself. In the case of Belladonna, the enchantment is applied to the harvested plant prior to extraction. I believe it most likely that enchantments will need to be applied at the same point in the growth and harvest cycle of the replacement ingredient. Most enchantments placed on ingredients are varying forms of amplification charms to increase the powers of desirable properties. In the case of Belladonna, the enchantments used increase the anti-inflammatory properties and also suppress the poisonous characteristics of the plant. The enchantments needed will depend entirely on the ingredient but it is doubtful that a suppression charm will be necessary. _

_ Have you ever worked to replace an enchanted ingredient within a potion? Very few masters have done so and as a result, I am having a difficult time finding someone with the necessary expertise to assist in our project. I do hope you are still considering taking a place on our research team. I am assured that the salary is negotiable and we should be able to come to agreeable terms. Do tell me what your thoughts are regarding this possibility in your next correspondence. You have great depth of knowledge in potions development and I should like to have you on our side. _

_Sincerely,  
Hermione Weasley_

It seemed like a blatant violation of privacy to attach the charm that would alert her to his location to the scroll but she knew she had to do it. The somewhat complex charm would convey the geographical coordinates of parchment when the hands of someone other than herself grasped it. There was always a slight risk of someone else intercepting it and throwing off her search, but she deemed that possibility unlikely. Zelda had gone back and forth between London and Wales many times now and would not be likely to stop off somewhere other than her destination.

After sending off the letter, she spent the rest of the day in the Ministry library doing research on various ingredients. She wrote scads of notes in a blue spiral notebook, though she honestly wasn't sure that she had learned anything useful. At five o'clock, she made her way back to her office to hang her lime green healer's robes and exchange them for the chocolate brown robe she had worn over a deep green dress with tights and brown buttoned ankle boots.

The parchment on her desk glowed with the coordinates of the letter delivery. +51° 54' 9.2514",-3° 24' 38.8866" . It was Wales, as expected, but as for its exact location, she would need to do some research. Obviously, she wouldn't want to apparate to that exact point and just pop into his kitchen. Besides, he was likely to have installed anti-apparation wards around his home. Tucking the parchment into her purse, she pulled on her robe and locked up the office. She was going to treat herself to dinner at the Three Broomsticks on her way home. While she was more than capable of cooking, she simply didn't enjoy it and was more than happy to allow others to do it for her.

She ordered the fish and chips along with a pint of mead and ate them at a small table in the back corner. She loved the way Rosmerta made the mushy peas in particular. She topped it off with sticky toffee pudding, smothered in custard. It had been a favourite of hers her whole life, though she had not often been able to enjoy it due to the imposition of sugar restrictions from her dentist parents. Dessert had been a Sunday only affair until she was at Hogwarts. The three Grangers had rotated who chose dessert. Mum always chose trifle, Dad chose banoffee pie, and Hermione chose sticky toffee pudding.

Her heart twisted at the thought of her parents. Though she had released them from the memory charm not long after the end of the war, they hadn't understood her decision and were somewhat resentful of it. They chose to remain in Australia under their new identities and remained on Christmas card terms. It was exceptionally difficult for Hermione to bear that her once loving, doting parents could barely talk to her. They had come to the wedding, but her father refused to give her away. While they expressed their congratulations at the births of both her children, they had never met Rose or Hugo, nor had they come to Ron's funeral. In many ways, Molly and Arthur had become her only set of parents and the only grandparents to her children.

Finishing up her dessert, she walked up the high street toward her home. Though the windows were darkened, the front door immediately recognized her magical signature and let her inside, turning on several of the lights. Locking the door behind her, she proceeded up the steps to her bedroom and bath. Tired from a long week of work and with no children to feed and bathe, she would not stay awake very late. She changed into her softest pale blue nightgown, and laid out an outfit for the next day before returning to the living room with a book of maps.

Hermione discovered that the coordinates in question put her in the middle of Brecon Beacons National Park in Wales. It was not especially near a road or even a marked trail. Surveying the map, she chose a spot about a mile away in the middle of nowhere to apparate to. She copied the map so she would have an idea of where she was going, then placed the volume up on the shelf. After reading from a novel for a bit, she went back upstairs and went to sleep.

The next morning, she met Ginny for breakfast at the Leaky Cauldron. After a full fry-up, they prowled Diagon Alley for the latest in witch fashion. Hermione wound up purchasing three new sets of robes from Gladrags: a set of French blue summer weight crepe de chine robes, a luxurious buff coloured robe made of silk wool, and lastly a very slim cut set of aubergine robes of silk cotton voile. She should have felt guilty for the indulgence but they were on sale and the only new robes she had purchased in the last two years were the set of heavy black velvet she wore to Ron's funeral. At Madam Malkin's, she purchased one set of flame and potion resistant work robes in utilitarian black.

Even as she and Ginny shopped and tried on outrageous styles they would never actually wear, Hermione was anxious for what would come that afternoon. After a hearty portion of bubble and squeak at the restaurant next to Gladrags, Hermione apparated home. She changed from her robes into a pair of jeans with a long sleeved white shirt and a green vest. Finishing the ensemble with her hiking boots, she tucked a few items into her purse, including her potions notes.

Dressed and ready to go, she picked opened up the notebook with her intended destination. Closing her eyes, she focused on that spot and with a pop, Hermione was gone from her home.

* * *

Author's Notes:

While the coordinates used for the location of Severus Snape's stone cottage are in fact in Wales in Brecon Beacon's national park, I make no guarantees that there is in fact a stone cottage with a sexy potion's master inside.

I would also like to note, dear readers, that the only payment I receive for this story is your reviews. Seriously, reviews inspire me to keep writing.


	13. Chapter 13

**Requiem for the Living**

By Jinxd n Cursed

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I merely play in the world of J.K. Rowling; she still owns the characters.

* * *

_Dies irae, dies illa  
Solvet saeclum in favilla,  
teste David cum Sibylla.  
Quantus tremor est futurus,  
quando judex est venturus,  
cuncta stricte discussurus!_

**Chapter Thirteen**

Severus usually spent his Saturday mornings reclined on the leather chaise lounge he kept in the library. He would pick a book from the shelf, most often a novel or a play or philosophy. Today, he decided to read Shakespeare and selected 'The Winter's Tale.' It was a so-called problem play because it did not fit into a single Shakespearean category. The first act was a deep psychological drama and the latter two acts were a romantic comedy, leading up to a happy ending. He could only hope that his life might play out the same way.

Most of his life had been spent going from master to master like a slave. His first master had been his father, who expected slave-like obedience from his wife and child. Failure to comply resulted in bruising punishments for himself and for his mother. While he bore more than his fair share of curse scars, half of the scars on his body were courtesy of his father.

For all that he hated magic, Tobias Snape had been oddly eager to send Severus off to Hogwarts. At the time, Eileen hid her suspicions from her son. When Severus was not home to act as some form of protection for his mother, Tobias had turned the full brunt of his inner rage on her. She had been abused physically and sexually on a daily basis, though she kept it well hidden. Severus did not find out until the summer before his seventh year, a mere week before he was due to return to school. He had worked in a shop in town and had come home early and found his father forcing himself on his mother. Severus had heard the screams as he came up the drive. He had overpowered his father with uncontrolled, wandless magic and Tobias had stayed away until Severus went back to Hogwarts. It was a mere two days into the school year that he had received the letter informing him of his mother's "accidental" drowning in the river behind the house.

Horace Slughorn had accompanied him to the funeral as his Head of House and then whisked him back to Hogwarts immediately after. Severus's anger toward his father had seethed through the school year. On the day of his graduation, Lucius Malfoy had approached him, wishing to take him to meet Lord Voldemort. Severus had not been surprised; Malfoy, Mulciber, and Avery had never been shy about their affiliations and their desire for him to join them.

Severus had renounced his lowly birth to the Dark Lord by killing his father in front of him. It had not been a simple killing curse; that would have been too good for him. He had unleashed several bouts of the Cruciatus curse followed by _Sectumsempra_. His father had screamed from the pain of both curses, though his screams had slowly died away as he bled to death. At the time, Severus thought that meant he was finally free, but as the Dark Lord placed the Dark Mark on his left forearm, he was bound to his second master.

It had not taken very long for Severus to become disillusioned with Voldemort. His master made arrangements for him to receive his potions mastery in France from one of his supporters there. Then Severus became the brewer of poisons for his dark purposes. As he saw his work go to killing innocent people, he realized that he was following a master even worse than his father. That he had used the information Severus gave him to go after Lily Potter had been the last straw. Despite everything, he had still loved that woman.

Dumbledore was his third master. Severus was bound to him through guilt. He felt guilty for failing to save his mother, for killing his father, for essentially killing Lily, and for leaving Lily's child without a mother. Though Dumbledore would say that Severus had protected Harry Potter because James had saved his life, he didn't feel like he owed James anything for doing enough to keep his best friend from being expelled. He did it for Lily.

His relationship with Dumbledore was extremely complicated. Dumbledore had blatantly favoured his Gryffindors, often at Severus's expense. When Sirius Black had lured him to the Shrieking Shack, presumably to kill him, Black had received a month of detentions and a letter to his shrew of a mother. Severus had been threatened with expulsion if he ever revealed what he saw to another student. When Severus had been dangled upside down in front of the Hogwarts student body, humiliated, and had his underwear removed, Severus had received the same punishment as his tormentors.

Despite that, Severus could not deny that Dumbledore had taken him in and trusted him, despite his affiliations. He was not unaware that the headmaster was the only reason he had not gone to Azkaban. When he returned to spy for Dumbledore, he had been glad that he could be part of the Dark Lord's downfall. His resentment for Dumbledore wasn't solidified until he was forced to kill him. It seemed Dumbledore had been determined to make him a villain.

The best part of his life spent in the stone cottage was that he served no master other than himself. Though Minerva had helped him in his hour of need, she had made it clear that he didn't owe her anything. She was simply his friend.

After a lunch of leftover ham and leeks, he decided to spend the afternoon tending his garden beds. He would take his weekend hike on Sunday afternoon instead. He grew many of the plant-based ingredients in a dozen raised beds behind the cottage where it got the most sunlight. He had one bed that was stocked with herbs he used for both brewing and cooking. In that bed he kept basil, rosemary, mint, thyme, oregano, tarragon, and chives. The mint was attempting to take over the bed, as it was prone to do, so he uprooted a few of the unruly shoots, plucking the leaves off. He laid them out on one of the screens he used for drying. He had grown the rosemary into a topiary shape to allow more space for the lower herbs. He trimmed a few sprigs off the side and laid those on the drying rack as well. Lastly, he pinched off the small white flowers that were growing on the basil to encourage it to leaf out rather than grow flowers.

He moved on to his bed that was entirely filled with aconite and Belladonna. Those two plants would poison just about any other plant placed in the same bed. One of the few exceptions was the dandelion. They loved to take root in the space between the plants. Sadly, he could not use them as a potion ingredient because the other two plants contaminated the dandelions. He couldn't even use them to make salad or jam.

It was when he was pulling the dandelions from the bed that it happened.

"Jack Hier," a warm, feminine voice said behind him.

He whirled, wand pointing at the intruder. Normally so observant, he had been absorbed in his work and had not noticed anyone coming up to the house.

"Or should I say Severus Snape," Hermione Weasley said levelly, despite the wand pointed at her chest.

Severus was speechless for one of the first times in his life. He had not detected a tracing charm on a single one of her letters so he was unsure of how she had found him. Had Minerva betrayed him? No, it wasn't possible. "Who sent you?" he asked, finally.

"I sent myself," she said. "I'm not going to attack you and drag you off so you can lower your wand."

"No I cannot," he snarled. "You are invading my privacy. I should send you off with a hex and an _Obliviate_ for your cheek."

Her response shocked him. Rather than cower, as she surely would have done as a student, she simply shrugged. "You are not the first Potions master to threaten me."

"What are you doing here?" he hissed.

"I'm here to discuss my work," she replied.

"Your work," he repeated. "Why would I wish to discuss your work?"

"Academic curiosity, perhaps?" she asked. "You've been helping for almost a week now."

"By owl! I have been asking you questions about your work, not inviting you into my home," he shouted.

"Something had seemed familiar about your letters but I couldn't put my finger on it until the last one. You used the word dunderhead and suddenly it clicked. The handwriting, the knowledge about potions, the lack of registration in any database," she told him. "I knew it was you."

"Congratulations. You can promptly forget your knowledge and go back from whence you came," he said.

She shook her head. "No, I'm afraid I can't do that. I have a number of questions to ask you."

"Which you will refrain from asking," he replied. "Get out!" How dare she invade his privacy? How dare she disturb the life he had built hidden in the woods?

"Fine," she said. "I will return this evening."

"I wouldn't recommend it," he replied.

She shrugged.

"Don't you have children? You wouldn't want to leave them motherless," he said.

"You won't kill me," she replied. Hermione began walking away from him, in the direction of the trails.

His anger seared through his mind. How dare she? How dare she just show up at his cottage as if she had any right? Was she so insatiable in her thirst for knowledge that she would stop at absolutely nothing to get what she wanted? She wanted Jack Hier, so she had gone to find Jack Hier. The gall!

As he mentally ranted and violently tugged at the weeds in his flowerbeds, a thought niggled at his mind that he kept trying to ignore. Unfortunately, that little annoyance soon came to the forefront: he would have done the exact same thing if he were in her place. When he was working on a project, he would read every book he could find on the subject and if that didn't provide the answers, he would find someone who knew more about it. If that person refused to communicate, wouldn't he track them down? More so, if someone presumed to be dead came out of the woodwork, wouldn't he go see if it was true?

He huffed out a sigh. He resented her and the intrusion into his life but he didn't actually hate her. If the main purpose of seeking him out really was to work on her project and not to expose him to the whole world, then would it really hurt for her to know? The spy in him said yes, but after ten years without needing to look over his shoulder, he was not as concerned at he once would have been. Minerva had showed him that some Gryffindors could keep secrets.

She claimed that she would be back that evening. While part of him hoped that her much vaunted Gryffindor bravery would fail and she would never return, the other part of him had questions of his own. What did she truly want? How had she found him?

It was five o'clock by the time he finished weeding the last bed. Not sure at what point Hermione would return, he went inside and took a quick shower, changing into a pair of dark blue jeans, a charcoal button down, and black shoes. Tying his hair into a tail at the nape of his neck, he went into the kitchen and began preparing dinner.

He took a chicken out of the cold storage cabinet and began rubbing the skin with butter, salt, and pepper. After squeezing the outside with half a lemon, he shoved the lemon into the cavity and expertly trussed the chicken. With a flick of his wand, the oven was hot and ready for the bird. Once the chicken was cooking, he began peeling parsnips and carrots. He cut them into bite-sized chunks, coated them in olive oil and placed them in a pan. They didn't need to go in for another half an hour. Lastly, he prepared a salad of butter lettuce. Dinner cooking, he poured himself a glass of water and sat down at the kitchen table with his book.

The quiet knock came twenty minutes later. Not one to let his guard down, Severus pulled out his wand as he opened the door. He was startled by her appearance. With her khaki pants and green vest, she was identical to the strange dream he had of her a few nights prior.

"Can I come in?" she asked, somewhat timidly.

"If you must," he said, lowering his wand and stepping out of the way.

"Thank you," she replied. She had a brown shoulder bag, presumably full of notes and books to share with him on her research. Or else, her terms for not revealing his living status to the world.

"I suppose you think you are owed congratulations for discovering that I am alive," he drawled, his smooth tone not revealing the nerves he felt.

"You owe me nothing," she replied. "Besides, I knew you were alive right after the battle. I didn't just figure it out this week."

His brow furrowed. "Why would you assume I was alive? All signs pointed to my death."

"Not if you know what you're looking at," Hermione answered. "I went to the Shrieking Shack a week after the battle. I saw what looked like drag marks on the floor and steps and the shattered potions phial at the base of the steps. I could smell the anti-venom and blood replenishing potion."

"Those factors do not necessarily mean someone saved me," he said. "With such scant clues, why did you assume I was alive?"

"It had the marks of someone who had been preparing for a wealth of possibilities for death. As a spy, I'm quite sure you knew there was a risk that Voldemort would kill you," she reasoned. "I didn't invade your privacy to dredge up the past, though."

"Then why are you here?" he snarled.

"To recruit you for my research team," she said simply. "Or at the very least discuss the project."

He sighed. She really wasn't going to leave this alone, was she? He would hear her out and then send her on her way and move if necessary. "Come into the kitchen, then. There is room to talk there."

* * *

Author's Notes: Sorry for the late posting. Yesterday was my 25th birthday so I was otherwise occupied. I will warn you now that chapter 14 will be posted late; probably on Monday the 10th as I am getting married on Saturday (ahhhhhh!).


	14. Chapter 14

**Requiem for the Living**

By Jinxd n Cursed

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I merely play in the world of J.K. Rowling; she still owns the characters.

* * *

_Dies irae, dies illa  
Solvet saeclum in favilla,  
teste David cum Sibylla.  
Quantus tremor est futurus,  
quando judex est venturus,  
cuncta stricte discussurus! _

**Chapter Fourteen**

It was already going much better than Hermione could have ever predicted. While abrasive, her former professor seemed to have mellowed some in the last ten years. He hadn't hexed her, removed her memory, and sent her on her way. He had not forced her to disembowel small creatures for their uses in potions.

His appearance had changed much as well. The billowing teaching robes that went from floor to chin had masked his slenderness. Clad in jeans with a charcoal button down shirt, and sturdy black leather shoes, he was lean but not skinny. His hair was longer than he had worn it when she was his student, long enough that he wore it pulled back in a tail at the nape of his neck. He had also grown a small goatee. In many ways, despite the ten years that passed, he actually looked younger than he had when he was her professor.

Snape led her in through the living room and into the kitchen. He gestured for her to sit down at the kitchen table. She did so and watched as he placed a pan of root vegetables into the oven beside a large chicken. Opening up her bag, she began pulling out her notes and placing them out on the table. She had already shared most of what she had brought with him, but she needed something to busy herself.

He set a glass of water down in front of her, keeping one for himself. Hermione watched with bated breath as he picked up the sheaf of her most recent notes. He began studying the pages, not just flipping through, but really reading her work.

She expected to be berated for her invasion of his privacy. After her dropping in earlier, she was especially dreading the return but she couldn't stay away. She wasn't even sure why she had to see him and talk to him. On the surface, it was academic necessity but she knew it ran deeper than that; she wanted to understand him, somehow. She needed a Potions master and even ten years later, he was the best she knew. She had read his work at University and had been shocked that such a brilliant researcher had spent most of his life teaching eleven-year-old children how not to blow themselves up. Most of his research had been about simplifying the creation of antidotes. In sixth year NEWT potions, they had learned about these and had been given a specific blend of poisons to create an antidote for. While Harry had cheated with a bezoar, they were an egregiously expensive ingredient, so creating antidotes with other ingredients was incredibly important. The method she had used was well known practice but it was very complicated and quite frequently needed to be bound to the brewer with the use of genetic material.

Intent was incredibly important in magic. They had learned and practiced hexes, curses, and jinxes in Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Most of those spells were fairly mild and were considered safe to use in a classroom setting. In the wrong hands, however, even the mildest of curses were dangerous. She thought of about tickling hexes. While seemingly completely innocuous, she remembered absolutely hating to be tickled by her father for any extended period of time. An extended bout of that particular hex would have been literal torture for her. It was even easier to think of how curses like a full body bind or a leg locker curse could be used maliciously.

Likewise, intent was important in creating potions and was especially crucial in creating antidotes, Snape had discovered. That was why the DNA from the brewer was so important: if the brewer had good intentions toward the person he was brewing for, the DNA (usually hair) made the potion all the more effective. The old theory had been this: the sum of the ingredients in the antidote had to be greater than the sum of the ingredients in the poison. Snape's work proved that the sum of ingredients did not need to be greater than the sum of the poison if the brewer's intent was to heal.

She idly considered what the effect of intent was on the Wolfsbane potion. Was it like an antidote that was stronger based on the intent of the brewer? It did not have to be bound to the brewer by DNA, nor had she heard any reports of decreased effectiveness from brewer to brewer unless the proper procedure was not followed. It was easy to mess up, especially given the length of the brewing process and the preparations of the ingredients. She didn't think it was likely that the Wolfsbane potion was affected by intent but she wondered if a cure for lycanthropy would be. She scribbled down a note for research phase two but it would need to wait until phase one was completed.

"Your research is surprising," Snape said at long last.

"How so?" she asked.

"No Potions master would think to do this work, least of all Damocles, the creator of the potion, who is now wealthy from his development. How do you intend to profit from this development?" he asked.

She shrugged. "A nice bonus from the Ministry and royalties on the sale of the formula? Really, my goal is to make the potion more affordable and accessible, not to make a massive profit margin. I made enough on the spattergroit cure to put both kids through Hogwarts and have a nest egg for myself."

"Kids?" he asked, a black eyebrow arched.

She nodded. "Yes, I have two children. Rose and Hugo."

"With Weasley?" he asked.

"Of course with Ron!" she exclaimed, indignant. "Just who else did you think it would be?"

"I wasn't imply anything," he said. "I was merely inquiring. I recall that your husband is deceased a year now. I offer my condolences to you and your family."

"Thank you," she said, a little calmer.

"How old are your children?" he asked.

"Rosie is not quite three and Hugo is four months," she told him.

He looked at her with shock. "Your son was born after your husband's death?"

She nodded. "Though the curse's affects were certainly present from the day it was cast, Ron was relatively healthy until about a month before his death. A few potions helped to slow the progress but they failed. Ron found out we were having a boy the night he died."

Hermione couldn't read Snape's expression as he slowly nodded. "Where are your children? It's the weekend. Aren't you responsible for their care when you're not working?"

"Normally, yes, but they are with Molly for the weekend with the rest of the grandchildren having a big sleepover," she told him. "She watches the children during the week while I work but Rose doesn't get to see her cousins very often."

He nodded once more. "I see."

"There are only so many options for a single mother," she said.

Snape cleared his throat. "Be that as it may, clearly you have dedicated a lot of time to this research. This is skilled potions work, yet you are not a master."

"I chose to go into healing because of the multidisciplinary aspect of it," she told him. "I was always an academic at Hogwarts and I would have been hard pressed to choose a favourite subject."

"I do not recall you having a particular passion for potions," Snape told her.

"You wouldn't have. I had to train myself to be quiet in your class. The perpetual hand raising appeared to annoy you," she told him. "But you should have seen me in Slughorn's class. I resumed my habit of wild hand waving, though Harry took honours as best potion maker to my fury."

"Ah yes," Snape said. "Potter found my book with all of my improvements to various potions. He was very foolhardy to use an alternate recipe without even knowing the brewer."

"Which I told him multiple times," she replied. "He was quite the determined little wanker, and Slughorn mistook your brilliance for his. To this day, Horace thinks Harry is a natural potion prodigy."

Snape sneered. "Horace Slughorn is easily persuaded by fame. It is easier for him to believe a famous person is gifted than for him to believe that they are a cheater. He wanted to assign Potter brilliance."

"You are right, of course," Hermione said. "He feels the need to point out brilliance despite my Muggle parents every time he sees me. He has also questioned whether I am sure that I am not related to the Dagworth-Grangers many times."

"It doesn't surprise me," he said. "He once mentioned to me what a shame it was about my father, implying that the biggest tragedy of my life was that I had a Muggle father."

"That's awful," Hermione said.

He shrugged. "There is nothing to be done of it now."

"I suppose not," she replied.

"This conversation has little to do with the topic at hand," he said finally. "I presume the reason you have invaded my privacy is to discuss your research."

"Yes indeed," Hermione told him. "I've done all the potion work on this project, and as you say, I am no Potions master. I do think however that my work has been more than adequate."

He inclined his head toward her. "Indeed, you have been successful in your endeavours thus far. I am not sure you are up to the task soon to come, however."

She nodded her agreement. "I find myself woefully beyond my depth in regards to the enchanted Belladonna. As you so kindly pointed out in one of your missives, the Wolfsbane will never be affordable while it is still on the ingredients list."

"I was not being kind, as you well know," he sniffed.

She snorted. "Yes, I realize that. Even after ten years, you are still not nice, nor did I expect you to be."

"You are of course correct," he said. "Do you have any experience with Herbology?"

She shook her head. "Not beyond what I studied in my studies at University and my apprenticeship. What about yourself?"

He ignored her question. "You will need to consult with a Herbology expert in order to work on that particular substitution. You may need a charms expert as well in regards to the enchantments."

"Do you have any experience with replacing enchanted ingredients?" she queried.

He sighed loudly, clearly annoyed. "No, I do not. Are you aware of someone you would be able to consult?"

"Yes indeed," she said. "You are familiar with this person."

"Dare I ask?" he replied.

"Neville Longbottom," she replied. "I mentioned him in a previous correspondence."

"I have been away from British Wizarding society for nearly ten years and that imbecile continues to haunt me."

"Neville is a war hero," Hermione argued. "He slew Nagini in the last battle and reformed Dumbledore's Army right under your nose. He is the one who figured out what to tell the Room of Requirement to keep them all safe."

Snape rolled his eyes. "I knew about his plot. Who do you think kept the Carrow's off their tail?"

Hermione looked shocked.

"Yes, I knew. Though I did not know about the Room of Requirement or his slaying of the cursed snake. If only he had done so prior to me being attacked by the beast."

"Would you still have chosen to hide from society if you hadn't almost died?" she asked.

"You still cannot contain your questions, can you woman?" he demanded. He appeared to consider for a moment. "I do not know. I am not sure that I truly intended to hide from society this time, only that it happened that way."

She nodded. "I suppose that makes sense."

He pushed away from the table and walked over to the oven. Hermione watched him open up the oven and remove a steaming roasted chicken and the tray of roasted root vegetables. After checking the chicken for doneness, he waved his wand to care the bird. She was extremely surprised when he pulled two plates down from the cabinet and began dishing up chicken, vegetables, and salad greens with salad cream. He placed one in front of her and one at his place, sitting down once more.

"It is not poisoned," he informed her after she had spent a full minute gawking at the plate in front of her. "It is herb and lemon roasted chicken with carrots and parsnips."

"Thank you?" she said, her voice rising in a question.

Her dinner companion chose to ignore her surprise and continued peppering her with questions about her work. The dinner was delicious and Hermione did the washing up with one of Molly's cleaning spells that had the job done in two minutes flat. He continued to review her extensive notes over tea and a few biscuits.

At last, the hour was drawing late and Hermione was tired. She needed to ask the question that had been at the back of her mind the entire time, the selfish question that she just couldn't keep herself from asking. "Is there anyway that you would consider joining our team?"

"What makes you think that I would ever do such a thing?" he asked.

"Clearly, you are interested in this work. You've been contributing to the process today and for all of last week. There must be some curiosity," she said.

He considered. "Your work is more intriguing that most. I have been approached via owl for a number of projects over the years but yours is the first that has caught my interest."

"You are a hero, you know," she told him. "Your name was cleared of any wrongdoing. Harry personally saw to it. If you were to return to society, you would not be sent to prison."

"Society will not forget my crimes, Hermione!" he exclaimed. "No more than I can forget them myself!"

She was startled not only by his outburst but also by his use of her name.

"Do you really think that they will forgive the man who not only tortured countless students over a twenty year career, but who also happens to be the person who killed Albus Dumbledore? You are hopelessly naive," he told her with a derisive laugh.

She bristled at his insult, and then stuffed the reaction back down. It would not do for her to react negatively. "Perhaps you are right. I will confess, you never seemed the type to be concerned over the opinions of others."

He glared at her sharply. "I am willing to work on your team as a consult. You shall be my only contact and you will not show up unannounced ever again. You will tell those in charge of pay scales at St. Mungo's that I expect thirty percent more than the offer you have previously given me. They will contact me via owl next week."

She nodded, keeping her expression neutral despite her happiness.

"Now, I presume what you have brought with you is a copy of your work thus far?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Good. Then I shall keep it all. You have imposed on my kindness far too long. It is time for you to go home. You will contact me via owl on Monday."

She nodded. "Of course," she said. "Good evening, Prof—Mist—"

"Severus will do if we are to be peers," he snapped. "Now be gone."

"Yes, of course," she said. "Good evening, then, Severus." She rose from the table and went to the door.

"You will find that the anti-apparation wards will allow you to disapparate from the front step," he called after her.

"Thank you!" she said. As soon as she was outside, she gave a silent cheer before apparating home. As she readied herself to go to sleep, she thought back on the day and admitted that it had gone much better than she could possibly have predicted. In all, it had been a very good Saturday.

* * *

Author's Notes: I'm going to say something sacrilegious here: as much as I love Alan Rickman, he is a lot older than Snape is supposed to be. I envision Snape as looking fore like Andrew Rothenberg. Now I'm going to date myself slightly. Andrew Rothenberg plays the strict judge in the movie "Save the Last Dance" (a 2001 teen movie) and that is how I imagine Snape to look.

Sadly, Severus does not use the same roasted chicken recipe that I do. If he truly wanted a delicious bird, he would have allowed it to rest for fifteen minutes prior to carving.

Many thanks to my lovely beta, DanB86. Any errors left are of my own doing.

Thank you to my (im?)patient readers. I did not intend to delay a full week but that it how it happened. The wedding went well and I followed it up with a weekend away and then time spend setting up our apartment. I had to re-edit this chapter on the fly as my amazing husband bought me a new laptop for my birthday and the editted chapter some how got lost in the shuffle. Strange.


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